


retrograde

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Domestic Bro Shenanigans, Getting Together, Jigsaw Puzzles, M/M, Photography, Podfic Available, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “So, what, you’re buddies with the new photographer?” Nate asks.“I mean.” JT shrugs. “He’s a cool guy.”“Leave him alone, I think it’s sweet,” Tyson says. “We like him, right, Gabe?”“We are two separate people with separate opinions,” Gabe says, then takes a sip from his drink. “But, yeah, we like him.”(In which JT Compher is a hockey player, and Tyson Jost apparently kisses strange boys, sometimes.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> thanks to dean for betaing/cheerleading/playlisting/title help, rachel for the grammar check, maggie for the kindness and enthusiasm, sam for the patience and advice, sarah and ali for the feedback, and anyone who saw me tweeting about this for the last bajillion years and cheered it on in any way. 
> 
> i don't know much about photography, so take any job descriptions with a million grains of salt. i also don't know much about denver, so any commentary on traffic conditions, public transportation, and housing availability is the result of research/imagination. any talk of jigsaw puzzles, however, is rooted in real lived experience.

The first time JT meets Tyson Jost, he’s supposed to be mingling with season ticket holders, but he instead finds himself face-to-face with a curly-haired guy a few inches shorter than him who’s got a camera hanging off his neck. 

And when JT says face-to-face, he means that the guy’s face is literally  _ right there,  _ his forehead pressed up against JT’s, and JT is about to tell him that he’s probably got him mixed up with someone else when the guy says, “Hi, I know this is weird, I’m so, so sorry.” 

JT’s mouth opens before he has a chance to stop himself from saying, “Hi sorry, I’m JT,” which is definitely one of the top ten most embarrassing things he’s ever said, but he’s understandably flustered, so. Whatever.

The guy smiles. “Tyson,” he says, by way of introduction. “I’m supposed to be working right now, but I ran into someone, and I just need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for about five seconds so I can avoid a really awkward situation, okay?” 

“I have so many questions,” JT says, but the last syllable is cut off when Tyson leans forward and presses their mouths together, because apparently they’re kissing now. 

The next three seconds are pretty confusing, to say the least. 

It’s not like JT exactly wants to kiss him back, because, hello, he’s at a team event, and there are people who could see this, and anyway, this isn’t really the kind of kiss that invites the other person to kiss back. It’s mostly just that Tyson’s mouth is in the same place as his mouth. JT’s eyes are still wide open, which is pretty strange, but allows him to get a very close look at the way Tyson’s face is doing everything in its power to say,  _ please don’t let this end in disaster;  _ it’s unusual subtext for sure, but in context, it makes a lot of sense. Tyson’s mouth is firmly shut, though, so JT mirrors that, just stands there kind of frozen until Tyson decides it’s time for them to break apart. 

“Oh my god, thank you so much,” Tyson says, wiping off his mouth, then brushing off his shirt, for some reason. “I swear there was a good reason for that.”

“I would hope so,” JT says, blinking a few times. 

“So, it’s like, I’m the new team photographer, right?”

“Right,” JT says. “And I’m on the team.” 

Tyson looks up, startled, and his eyes go all wide. “Wait, you’re— fuck.” 

“Again, most people call me—”

“JT,” Tyson finishes. “As in, JT Compher, which I didn’t realize before I— oh god, I really just was looking for a reasonably-aged person to kiss, I swear.” 

“Thanks?” JT says, still not really sure what’s going on, only that now Tyson looks very concerned, which is less than ideal.

“I mean, not that you’re— it wasn’t— do you have the power to get me fired? Please don’t get me fired,” Tyson says. “I really like this team, you know, and I don’t know if you know this, but getting a job is super fucking hard these days because of the economy, or something? And—”

“I don’t know how to get you fired,” JT says, and then he shakes his head a little bit, clearing his thoughts. “I won’t get you fired, I mean. Like, I hope you don’t get fired over that.” 

“Thanks,” Tyson says. “I just— really needed to get out of a conversation, you know?” 

“Makes sense,” JT says, nodding, even though it doesn’t make sense at all. He actually can’t picture any scenario in which kissing a random guy is the best option, but he gets the sense that Tyson’s life has a very different kind of chaos than his does.

“Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure she’ll be avoiding me all night,” Tyson says. “So, y’know, thanks for that.” 

“Any time,” JT says. “I mean— uh, no problem. You’re welcome.” 

Tyson laughs, surprised and a little breathy, and the knot of confusion in JT’s chest shifts a little with the sound of it. “I should get back to taking pictures,” he says, gesturing to his camera. “Uh, I owe you one, so I guess— if you want me to take nicer ones of you, or avoid any at all, just let me know.”

“Avoiding would be nice,” JT says. 

“Noted,” Tyson says. “I— I hope that didn’t cause any trouble for you, like— again, I’m really sorry.” 

“Again, no worries,” JT says, glancing around. He sees a few teammates, but they’re all talking to fans, not looking at him. Which doesn’t mean they didn’t see, but— at least there’s not, like, a small crowd of onlookers, or anything. “See you around?” 

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “See you.” 

He disappears into the crowd, and JT just stands there, not really sure what just happened, and when he makes eye contact with Gabe over someone’s shoulder, he just gives him a small shrug, still thoroughly bewildered. 

So. 

It’s— 

Yeah.   

…… 

JT thinks about the kiss in an abstract way for the next few days, in a weird, restless kind of way, because he’s not sure why he keeps thinking about it. It’s not like he has to do anything about it, not like there’s anything he has to process— it was a thing that happened, and now it’s done. 

But it was fucking weird, so he thinks about it. 

JT’s never kissed a guy, is the thing. He doesn’t have any issue with kissing guys, just— he’s never really had a mind for romance. He’s too busy with hockey to think about dating, and he’s always found friends and teammates just fine for companionship. He doesn’t need much more than that, and he knows that sex and marriage are things other people care a lot about, but, well. He’s had sex before—a bunch of times—and it’s fine enough, but he doesn’t lose his mind over it the way some guys seem to, so hooking up is more effort than it’s worth, most of the time. 

The point is that JT has never spent this long thinking about a kiss. 

He’s pretty sure it was, like,  _ good,  _ even if he can’t quite phrase why. It had been short and strange and stiff, but for some reason, JT has some vague notion that he’d do it again, which— it doesn’t make any sense at all, really, and it makes him kind of nervous to acknowledge it, so he just sort of brushes it off, and thinks about other parts of the kiss instead. 

He think about Tyson a lot. Tyson is a new guy, and technically his coworker, and JT should probably know what he’s gonna say to him the next time they run into each other, because otherwise, the conversation could be awkward and over too soon. He writes scripts in his head of the way it could go, tries to fill in Tyson’s half based on what he could glean about him from their brief, strange interaction. Tyson smiles a lot; Tyson takes pictures for a living; Tyson sounds very Canadian every time he speaks; Tyson is probably funny. Tyson has curly hair and an ex who was at a season ticket holder event, and he apparently kisses strange boys, sometimes. 

Tyson’s eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Tyson is a little bit of a whirlwind. 

It doesn’t really add up into anything cohesive, but it’s a start. He’s got a lot going on, which—  

Well. That’s one thing JT’s sure of. 

…… 

It’s a few days before Tyson reappears, and when he does, it’s a little underwhelming. Just a normal afternoon after practice in the middle of a homestand, except there’s an extra body there to watch and capture Lauren bother the guys one by one. 

JT usually tries to avoid these videos, and no one really seems to complain about it— it’s not like JT’s dying to get in front of the camera. He’s pretty sure he’s funny, but he’s got a dry sense of humor, and isn’t really all that into being made fun of. Which isn’t something he thought anyone was into, but some of the guys on this team—namely, Tyson Barrie—seem to have it down to a science. 

The thing is, Tyson—the Tyson who won’t get out of JT’s head, for some reason—is standing right by the camera, and JT doesn’t, like, approach him, or anything, but he also doesn’t pretend to not hear Lauren call him over with a cheerful, “Jimothy Timothy!” 

“That’s not my name,” he says. 

“We’re shooting a video, wanna be in it?” she says, not letting her smile falter, because Lauren’s pretty professional about lovingly bullying them into being in a video.

JT looks at her, then at Tyson, and he means for it to be a brief thing, to maybe feign disinterested recognition, as if he hadn’t known who he was the second he saw him. But they end up locking eyes, and there’s something about the way Tyson’s looking at him— like he’s frozen in place, like he’s scared and trying not to let it show, and JT thinks back to,  _ please don’t get me fired.  _

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling at Tyson until he sees Tyson’s face relax.  

“Alright,” he says, walking over. 

“Wow, that was easy,” Lauren says, her brow furrowing a little, even though she’s still smiling. She turns to Tyson. “I have this theory that he doesn’t like other gingers. They make him feel threatened.” 

“You caught me,” JT says, aiming for deadpan but missing by a fraction of an inch, because he can’t quite wipe the grin off his face entirely.  

“Well, good news is that we have someone else here to balance out the ratio,” Lauren says, gesturing to Tyson. “This is Tyson, he’s my mentee for the day.” 

“I know,” JT says, and then he blushes. “I mean, uh, we’ve met before.” 

“We bumped into each other on my first day,” Tyson says, giving JT a nod and a small, shy, knowing grin that JT is a very big fan of. 

“So are you gonna be LG 2.0, or what?” JT asks, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He can’t tell if Tyson’s cheeks are pink from the cold or from something else, but either way, it’s a nice look on him. 

“I was just giving him some tips on how to get the best behind-the-scenes access,” Lauren says. 

“I figured I should get to know who’s who,” Tyson says. “Plus, I’m shooting an event here this weekend, and I wanted to check it out beforehand. And I don’t have my car with me, and my roommate can’t pick me up, so I’m trying to wait out surge pricing,” he says, tapping his phone. 

“I could give you a ride,” JT says, without really thinking about it. “If you want, I mean.” 

Tyson blinks. “Oh, uh— I mean, I don’t know where you’re headed, but if it’s not on your way, you really don’t have to.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, unless you live, like, way in the suburbs? I’ve got nothing else to do today.” He hopes he’s not being weird, but he’s not sure why it would be weird. People do nice things for people they work with sometimes, and JT wants to do something nice for Tyson. It’s not like he’s got some ulterior motive. He just— wants to. Whatever. 

“Well, uh, in that case— yeah, that’d be nice,” Tyson says, offering JT this shy smile, and JT— he really,  _ really  _ likes that smile, so much so that it takes considerable effort on his part to not smile back. 

“Sweet,” JT says, and then he turns to Lauren, just so he doesn’t forget that she’s there. That would be rude, probably. “So, uh— this video?” 

“Yes,” Lauren says, looking a little less amused and a little more intrigued than JT is strictly comfortable with. “We’re just gonna do rapid fire this-or-that questions, it’ll only take a minute.” 

“Alright,” JT says, glancing at Tyson once, and then a few more times, just because. “Easy questions, right?” 

“Yeah, like— chocolate or vanilla, cats or dogs, whatever,” Lauren says. “Don’t think too hard about the answer, just— go with your gut. Follow your heart.” 

“Got it,” JT says, and he really should stop looking at Tyson, but, in his defense, Tyson’s right behind the camera he’s supposed to be looking at, so. “I’ll… follow my heart, then.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Lauren says. “Alright, Jost, kick us off.” 

It’s Tyson Jost, then. JT tucks that away in his brain, if only because he’s enjoyed collecting facts about Tyson so far, so he figures he might as well keep doing it.  

“Jimothy Timothy, take 1,” Tyson says, and JT rolls his eyes as Lauren stifles a giggle. 

…… 

Tyson, JT learns on the car ride back, is pretty talkative. 

They mostly just talk about Denver, and traffic, and how Tyson’s been finding the city— he just moved here, apparently, and he’s a fan of what he’s seen. He mentions being excited for the weather to get warmer so he can finally check out some of the hiking, and JT has a momentary crisis about whether or not it would be weird to offer to show him his favorite mountain trails when it stops being so cold. Before he has a chance to figure it out, Tyson’s already moved onto another topic. 

So that’s how it goes, really, Tyson talking, JT listening and occasionally responding. Tyson seems determined to ramble, and JT thinks it would feel unbalanced if he wasn’t hanging on to every word Tyson was saying. As the ride goes on, JT starts to chime in, and Tyson looks a little surprised every time, like he expects JT to tune him out. It’s so nice, though, the way Tyson looks all pleased when he realizes that JT’s listening, so of course JT’s gonna keep reminding him. 

It’s a good conversation, JT thinks, and the car ride feels like it’s over too soon when Tyson says, “You can drop me off at this corner, by the way.”

“Alright,” JT says, pulling over. The street is pretty empty right now, so he puts his car in park. 

“Thanks so much for the ride, dude,” Tyson says, opening the passenger side door. “You seriously didn’t have to.” 

“It was nothing,” JT says, and he can feel his cheeks turn a little red as he smiles, but he can probably blame that on the cold.

“Still,” Tyson says. “Thanks.” 

JT watches Tyson’s hands as he starts to unbuckle his seat belt. “I mean,” he says absently, “If you ever need a ride back from something, this place is on my way.”

“Oh, that’s— I’ll keep that in mind,” Tyson says, and he isn’t kicking the door open more, which is good, because JT doesn’t want him to. If he’s being perfectly honest, he’d very much like to ride around with Tyson all afternoon, but he knows that’s ridiculous and not going to happen. “I mean, same here. I sort of owe you one.” 

“It was really no big deal,” JT says. 

“Well, I like to be nice to people who help me out, so,” Tyson says. “If you need a hand with anything, just— I can give you my number, and you can give me a call, yeah?” 

JT doesn’t know why he feels a little lightheaded for a moment, like the world is spinning too fast and not in a bad way, but he forces himself to take a deep breath and say, “Yeah, sure,” he says, trying to not look like an idiot as he scrambles to unlock his phone. “Here you go.” 

Tyson types out his number, and JT may or may not be holding his breath as he watches his thumbs move. If Tyson notices or thinks it’s weird, though, he doesn’t let it on, just gives JT this grin that’s equal parts hesitant and goofy and says, “Cool.” 

“Cool,” JT echoes, and there’s a weird moment where they don’t say anything, just look at each other, but before it grows into anything too weird, Tyson ducks his head and clears his throat. 

“So, yeah,” he says, pushing the car door all the way open. A blast of cool air hits JT. “Thanks again.” 

“You’re welcome,” JT says, and he fixes his hands on the steering wheel as Tyson climbs out of the car, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “I’ll see you around the rink?” 

“They want me to start covering more practices, so probably,” Tyson says. 

“Awesome,” JT says.

Tyson gives him one last smile. “Glad you think so,” he says, and then he closes the door, pats the top of the car twice, and walks away. 

There’s a second where JT just sits there trying to catch his breath again, but then he looks down at his phone, sees Tyson’s contact on the screen, and just— smiles at it, for a second. It’s probably embarrassing, but, like. Whatever. Making friends is hard, and Tyson seems pretty awesome, so JT has plenty of reasons to be excited. 

If he spends the rest of the drive home composing messages to Tyson out loud— well. That’s between him and his car. 

…… 

As it turns out, Tyson doesn’t need rides all that often, but he does have a great sense of humor, so he and JT end up texting sometimes. 

It’s really not a big deal. People who have phones text sometimes.  

JT is out with the team, celebrating a decisive victory against Boston, when his phone lights up with a message, and a brief glance at the screen shows that it’s a picture from Tyson, presumably from a practice or old game, because he’s not on this road trip with the rest of the team. He opens it without really thinking much of it, because Tyson’s texts are usually hilarious and very worth reading. 

“Who’s that?” a voice says, and JT looks up—only startling a little—to see the other Tyson leaning forward a little, peering over to look at it. 

Instinctively, JT angles his phone out of sight. “My friend,” he says, and then, because it’s not a fucking secret, “The new guy on the media team.”

“The one who’s always taking pictures?” Gabe asks. 

JT nods. 

“Ah, yes,” Nate says, smirking. “Tyson’s mortal enemy.” 

EJ furrows his brow. “Who?”

“Other Tyson,” Nate says. 

“Oh, yeah, right,” EJ says. “Tyson 2: Electric Boogaloo.”

“He’s not my enemy anymore, dude,” Tyson says. “I decided this town’s big enough for two Tysons.” 

“When?” 

“When I found out that he’s friends with the best brunch blogger in BC.”

JT feels a weird little tug in his stomach, almost like jealousy, which is stupid, because it’s not like he’s got a monopoly on Tyson. It’s just— strange, hearing the rest of the team talk about him like this. Not that he hasn’t seen Tyson talking to the rest of the guys; there’s just a difference between knowing they all work in the same place and knowing that the other guys have, like, spent time consciously processing Tyson Jost as a person. 

Instead of thinking about that, JT just looks at the message Tyson sent him, which turns out to be a blurry picture of Kerf making a hilarious face from yesterday’s practice.

JT smiles, then takes a screenshot.

_ you supposed to be sending me these?  _ he types out, hitting send right before Nate elbows him. “What?” JT says, lifting his head to give him an irritated look.

Nate is apparently unphased. “I said, how’d you become buddies with the new photographer?”

“I mean,” JT says, “it just sort of… happened.” He shrugs. “He’s a cool guy.”

“Leave him alone, I think it’s sweet,” Tyson says. “We like him, right, Gabe?” 

“We are two separate people with separate opinions,” Gabe says, then takes a sip from his drink. “But, yeah, we like him.” 

“So you judge people by their taste in foodies too now?” EJ asks. 

“Obviously,” Gabe says easily, and apparently Nate thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, because he laughs so hard he snorts as the tips of Tyson’s ears go red. 

JT’s teammates are weird, he decides, and before he can continue with that train of thought, he gets another text from Josty. 

_ good question ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ figured u could update his contact picture, ur welcome! _

_ thanks, lol,  _ JT says. He hesitates for a second, and then sends,  _ did u watch the game?  _

_ yea!  _ Tyson says, and JT’s heart sort of swells. 

He watches as Tyson starts to type something else, which makes his stomach do something weird, but then the typing bubble disappears, before it reappears again. JT thinks about sending Tyson a message himself, but he doesn’t know what to say. ‘What did you think?’ is his first instinct, but that’s weird, probably. ‘Thanks’ is the next idea that pops into his head, but that also feels off, like it’s too forward if he lets Tyson know that he appreciates him watching his game. It’s not like Tyson did it because JT asked him to, or something.

“Let me guess,” Kerf says, walking up to the table and taking the seat next to JT. “You’re texting the photographer guy.”

“He is,” Tyson says cheerfully. 

JT frowns, locking his phone. “Can you guys not, like, read my texts?”

“I’m not reading shit,” Kerf says. “You’re just super weird when you text him.” 

“Am not,” JT says, feeling his cheeks go bright red. 

“Yeah, you are,” Kerf says. “You do this thing with your face—” 

“Fuck off, no I don’t,” JT says, and he feels angrier than he thinks he should, but— whatever, fuck Kerfy, he’s the one who makes stupid faces, and he makes them during practice, in front of photographers. JT’s face is— fine. Whatever.

Apparently Kerfy senses that he’s hit a nerve, because his face does something strange, but before he has a chance to respond, Tyson says, “Kerf, don’t call Comphy’s face weird just because you’re jealous of his new friend.” 

“I’m not jealous. I’m just saying he’s got a face.” 

“Well, you’ve got this face,” JT says, holding up his phone so Kerfy can see what his own stupid expression looks like. 

Kerfy leans forward and examines the photograph. “Wow, that’s rough,” he says. “Is this what you two talk about? His shitty pictures?” 

JT knows that Kerfy’s just chirping, but he still feels sort of compelled to stand up for Tyson, for some reason. Or— to stand up for his photos, at least. “I think the picture is fine, it’s the subject that’s shitty.” 

“Oof, you really handed that one right to him,” Nate says. “Also, I wanna see.” 

JT complies, and the conversation turns to who makes the weirdest faces in practice—something Tyson Barrie has a lot of opinions on, apparently—and that makes JT feel… strange, for some reason. He’d sort of enjoyed talking about Tyson to other people, felt weirdly pleased about the fact that he knows him better than anyone else. He just— he’s a fan of Tyson, and Tyson works with the team, and he thinks that maybe he could like the idea of Tyson getting to know the rest of the guys. It’d be nice, for the sake of, like, team unity.

It reminds him he still has to text Tyson back.  

_ hope we gave you something worth watching,  _ JT says, and quickly follows it up with a  _ :),  _ because he’s a firm believer in sending texts he knows he’d like to receive, and Tyson doesn’t respond, but JT is sort of okay with that. 

As he locks his phone and puts it face-down on the table, figuring he should probably, like, pay attention to the people he’s with, Kerf gives him a weird look, but if JT’s face is doing whatever Kerf thinks it does when he texts Tyson, he doesn’t bother to point it out. 

That takes a weight off JT’s chest, for some reason.

…… 

It’s not that JT goes out of his way to make sure the guys on the team get to know Tyson, after that. Technically speaking, they all already know him anyway, and it’s not like JT is bringing Tyson to team events, or anything. It’s just— if JT and Tyson are coworkers, and they text each other like friends, there’s no reason they can’t be friendly when they’re at work. 

It’s not like they’ve ignored each other, or anything, just— most of the time, their paths don’t really cross, and when they do, there’s a pane of glass between them. They’re polite, cordial, smile-and-wave friends, but after JT realizes that the guys know that he and Tyson are actually pretty friendly— 

Well, they get friendlier. 

JT might have a less conventional take on workplace friendships than Tyson does, but he’s seen The Office, so he knows that normal jobs sometimes lead to friendship too. Not the same way that teammates become friends, but still. Tyson gets to have work friends. JT gets to be his work friend. 

It’s normal, and JT isn’t sure why he feels the need to reassure himself of this fact so much, but whatever. 

The point is, JT starts to talk to Tyson whenever he sees him around the rink, shoots pucks at the glass to try and get his attention, makes faces at the camera, and in return, Tyson talks to JT and whoever JT’s with, and pretends to be annoyed when JT laughs at him for flinching when the pucks hit the glass, and critiques every stupid expression JT throws at him. 

It’s easier, JT’s learned, when the people you know and like happen to know and like each other. Pretty much everyone who knows Tyson likes him— he’s clearly a likeable guy. JT thinks he’s got a knack for reading people, because he always seems to say the right thing, chirp the right guy, laugh at the right jokes, and even when he laughs too loud or for too long, it’s in a charming way. He’s got this smile that’s equal parts cute and mischievous, and for someone with so much energy, it never quite feels like too much. 

The team likes Tyson, and Tyson likes the team, which is good, and the best part of it is that JT is still the one that Tyson waves to first, still the one he texts the most. 

Not that JT is a particularly jealous, possessive person, generally speaking. He’s just glad he gets to continue to not be particularly jealous or possessive. 

Whatever. It’s nice to be someone’s first choice, is all. 

…… 

It’s the day of a random home game, right after morning skate, and it takes JT a minute longer than usual to find Tyson. He’s gotten into the habit of offering Tyson a ride, even though he always says no, and if it were just a normal practice, JT would drop it, but he’s not one for changing up his routines on gameday. Tyson says he’s superstitious; JT thinks it just makes him consistent. 

Finally, he finds him in a weird alcove, his brow tightly furrowed as he stares at his phone, and JT offers him a tentative, “Hey.” 

Tyson startles. “Wh— oh, uh, I drove here today.” He blinks a few times. “I mean, I don’t need a ride, so— sorry. I mean, thank you.” 

“Alright,” JT says slowly. “Are you okay, man?” 

Tyson’s already starting at his phone again, frowning. “Yeah, it’s just— roommate drama.”

“Oh.” JT shifts from foot to foot, a little awkward. He’s met Tyson’s roommate maybe twice, and he seemed alright, but JT tends to think most people are ‘alright’ until they give him a reason to think they’re not. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“I mean, it’s fine, I’m just gonna be homeless soon enough. It’s whatever,” Tyson says, and it takes JT a second to realize that Tyson’s very much freaking out. 

“What’s up?” 

“Uh, the short of it?” Tyson says. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting kicked out of my apartment.” 

“Are they allowed to do that?” JT asks, furrowing his brow. 

“Well, I mean— my name wasn’t technically on the lease, and— fuck, I fucked this up so hard, and now I’m gonna have nowhere to live.” 

“Hey, no, you’ll be fine,” JT says. “I mean— I don’t know shit about finding a place to live, but I’m sure you’ll work something out.” 

“I guess, but— whatever.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just kind of freaking out.” 

“No worries,” JT says. “I—” He cuts himself off, because he can’t exactly say,  _ I get it.  _ “If there’s anything I can do to help, you can, y’know. Let me know.” 

“What, like, look at apartments?” Tyson says. He chuckles a little, but it mostly just sounds stressed. “No, it’s fine, I can handle it.” 

“You were just—”

“—panicking,” Tyson says. “People panic. It’s a kneejerk thing, I’ll definitely be okay.” 

“Alright, but seriously, if it makes you feel better, you can… I dunno, stay on our couch if you can’t find a place.” He just sort of throws the suggestion out there as, like, an example, but actually— the more he thinks about it, the more it seems like a good idea. There are way too many rooms in the house he and Kerf share. One of them could definitely be, like, a temporary guest bedroom. 

“You really don’t have to do that,” Tyson says. 

JT shrugs. “That’s what friends are for, right?” 

“I guess,” Tyson says. He bites his lip. “I mean, like— how serious are you?”

“I’d have to check with Kerf—” 

“Right, yeah, he— it’s fine if you don’t, like, want to do that,” Tyson says. “If it would have to be a whole,” he waves a hand. “Thing.” 

JT blinks. “I’d just have to ask him, dude.” 

“No, I know, but…” Tyson’s voice trails off, and JT thinks he gets it— Tyson doesn’t want to ask too much, doesn’t want to risk being a burden.

“Look,” JT says, “How about this: I run the idea by him later, and I’ll let you know how it goes, and if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll figure something else out, okay?” He feels weird saying  _ we,  _ because it’s not like he’s going to be living there, but he just— he wants Tyson to know that he’s on his side, that he’s… in this, or whatever. 

“Alright, I— yeah, that’d be helpful,” Tyson says. “Uh. Thank you.” 

“No problem,” JT says, and he offers Tyson a small smile, gets one in return, and ignores the weird way his chest feels a little too tight. 

It’s not a big enough weirdness to dwell on, probably. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **up next:** some VERY strong feelings.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyson insists that he’s only gonna stay for one weekend and then go to a hotel, but JT insists right back that it’s stupid for him to waste money on a hotel, and they both know he’s right. Tyson living with them just makes sense, really— he already lives close by, and Kerf points out that they could all carpool to the rink, and even if Tyson’s worried about mooching, or something, it’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to live alone. There’s a reason JT lives with Kerf in the first place, and he can’t imagine what it must be like for Tyson in a city where he doesn’t really know that many people. JT doesn’t want him to get lonely, is all.

And, like— JT wants to be a good friend to Tyson. Letting Tyson stay at his place isn’t really much of a burden for JT, but it could seriously help Tyson, and JT’s pretty sure it’s as simple as that. He can do something nice, so he  _ will  _ do something nice, and that’s that. 

It’s easy, honestly. Tyson moves his suitcases into their weird second living room that has a pullout couch, which their decorator apparently put in and JT hadn’t known about until Kerf pointed it out. They establish a routine, work out the logistics without much hassle, and the rest of it comes pretty naturally. They’ve all had roommates before, none of them is particularly fussy, and they all get along well. 

So, it’s fine in that sense. It’s also just  _ fun.  _

“Dudes, I hope you don’t have anywhere to be tonight, because I’ve got big plans for us,” Tyson says one day, as if he doesn’t know their schedule, at least for home games. JT figures it’s mostly for flair.

“Why do you sound like a father about to tell his bored teenage sons that they’re going on a family camping trip?” Kerf says, unimpressed. 

“No, not camping,” Tyson says. “But we are going to get in touch with some primal instincts.” 

“Kinky,” JT says. 

Kerf glances up. “What kind of primal instincts are we talking about?”  

“I’m talking about the greatest rush a man can experience,” Tyson says. “I’m talking about the thrill of a lifetime. I’m talking about a journey that we can take from the comfort of this very home.” 

“I hope we’re smoking whatever you’re on right now,” Kerf says. 

Tyson scoffs. “Please, this is way better than drugs. We’re getting high on  _ life.” _

“I see where you got the camping thing from,” JT tells Kerf. 

“Camping’s got nothing on this thousand-piece adventure,” Tyson says. 

“Then you should probably tell us what it is.” 

“Oh my god, you’re no fun,” Tyson says, not looking the least bit discouraged. “I got a sick puzzle today, and we’re doing it.” 

“A puzzle?” JT says. 

“Yeah.”

“Like, a jigsaw puzzle,” Kerf says. 

“Exactly,” Tyson says. “It’s a picture of space, and it looks dope as fuck, and we’re gonna do it.” 

“And what do jigsaw puzzles have to do with primal instincts?” JT asks. 

“Have you ever done a jigsaw puzzle before?” Tyson says. “Dude, there’s nothing like it.” 

“Okay, no one should ever be this excited about puzzles. It’s weird,” Kerf says. “But I’m not doing anything else tonight, so.” 

“Yeah, I’m in,” JT says. 

Tyson looks absolutely delighted. 

It’s been a minute since JT’s done a jigsaw puzzle, but thankfully, he’s not too much of a liability. Jigsaw puzzles aren’t the kind of thing that you can really hinder, no matter how bad you are, and JT thinks he’s doing alright. He’s maybe a little bit slow, but Tyson spends the first half hour diligently searching for edge pieces with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, which is weirdly distracting. If this weren’t a cooperative endeavor, JT would wonder if he was doing it on purpose. 

Kerf gets to work on a corner right away, and barely looks up from it once he falls into a rhythm. JT makes a note to make fun of him for being a nerd later, but for right now, he’s pretty sure Kerf can’t actually hear anything that’s not, ‘I think this might be one of Jupiter’s moons’ or ‘Does this look like that red spot thing?’ 

It’s… a little scary. Maybe more than a little scary. Potentially horrifying, actually. It’s a relief when he gets up to go to the bathroom— JT had been starting to wonder if he was secretly a robot, which is partially Kerf’s fault, partially  _ Westworld _ ’s. 

“Why’re you so into puzzles, anyway?” JT asks Tyson as Kerf walks out of the room.  

“Oh, well, I fucking hated them when I was a kid,” Tyson says. “I used to try and do them with my mom and sister, but I’d get so pissed off. But then I was— 16, I think? And I was drinking in my friend’s basement, and some of the guys started doing a puzzle, so I sort of hung around, got into helping, and, like— I don’t know if you’ve ever done a puzzle while you’re drunk, but, _ dude. _ ” 

His eyes are wide, sort of like they’d been earlier, except this feels a little more genuine. It’s nice, seeing Tyson all enthusiastic. Energetic people can be sort of hit or miss for JT—sometimes they’re too much, or he’s too boring—but Tyson’s kind of energetic is easy to be around. JT knows how to complement it, he thinks.

“It’s like, the more you drink, the harder it is to, like, keep track of the pieces and shit, but the higher the stakes get, and every time another piece fits—” Tyson squeezes his hand into a fist and closes his eyes, like he’s lost in the memory. JT has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. “Man, there’s nothing like it.” 

“Wow,” JT says. “I was not expecting there to be a whole… epic.” 

“I wrote a poem about it for English once.” 

“I’ve never wanted to read a poem in my life until now,” JT says, and Tyson laughs at that. It’s probably too loud, but JT can’t bring himself to think it’s too… anything, really. 

It’s just sort of perfect. 

“What’s got you wanting to read poems?” a voice says, and JT sort of startles. 

It’s Kerf. JT hadn’t even heard him walk back in. 

“Comphy unlocked part of my dark backstory,” Tyson says, not missing a beat. “You haven’t, though.” 

“C’mon, man, I gave you fashion advice the other day. I think that should get me some dark backstory,” Kerf says, and JT adjusts to face the table again, tries to recover from— whatever it is he’s feeling right now. He’s not really sure what it is. 

“I asked you if something matched, and you told me it did,” Tyson says. “That barely counts as advice.” 

“Why’d you go to him for advice, anyway? He dresses like shit,” JT says, which earns him a punch in the arm from Kerf. 

“I just needed someone who could see colors,” Tyson says. “It wasn’t about taste, trust me.”

“You guys are really just not gonna pull any punches, huh,” Kerf says. “Also, wait, what do you mean by someone who can see color?” 

Tyson shrugs. “I’m colorblind?”

“I didn’t know that,” JT says, frowning a little. 

“Well, I dunno,” Tyson says. “It doesn’t really come up all that much.”

“Can you be colorblind and also be a photographer?” Kerf asks. “Am I allowed to ask that, or is that, like, offensive?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” Tyson says. “And— I mean, I’m a colorblind photographer, so.”

“How did I not know this about you?” JT asks, putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. He’s not sure why it’s bothering him so much; maybe it’s just weird learning something new about Tyson. He knows kind of a lot about him, for someone he’s only known for a few months. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Tyson says. “It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Comphy’s just worried that you’ve never seen his hair in full force,” Kerf says, then reaches across the table and tries to give JT a noogie, because he’s a dick. 

“Fuck off,” JT says, trying to fight him off. “You’re gonna knock something over, and, like, break the puzzle.” 

“If you break the puzzle, I’ll probably kill you,” Tyson says. “Like, I don’t wanna, but, y’know.”

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Kerf says, but he stops anyway, puts his hands in the air. “I would  _ never. _ I’m way too invested.”  

“Sweet, then pass me that piece, I’m gonna start in on Saturn’s sexy, sexy rings,” Tyson says. 

Kerf tosses it to him obediently. 

…… 

“So,” Gabe says one day, as the two of them make their way off the ice. It’s just the two of them, which means that idle conversation is bound to happen, because Gabe Landeskog is allergic to silence. “How’s the new roomie?” 

JT shrugs. “He’s good, I guess.” 

“He doesn’t mind living with hockey players?” 

“I mean, he’s sort of— part of the team, right? He gets it,” JT says. “He wakes up earlier than us most days, so we don’t have to worry about sleeping in, and he gets the place to himself when we’re on the road, so it’s a pretty sweet deal for him. Plus he’s really into, like, cooking? Kerf gets on him about the dishes, but he’s clean enough, and he shares the food with us, which is chill.” 

“Is it any good?” 

“The food?” JT shrugs. “Yeah, for sure. Better than I could make.” 

“Try not to starve when he moves out,” Gabe says sagely. “How long is he gonna be there, do you think?” 

“Uh— I don’t know, really.” Honestly, JT doesn’t want to bring up Tyson moving out as long as Tyson doesn’t. He likes having Tyson around, and he’s pretty sure it doesn’t hurt anyone to act like his stay is more or less indefinite. “There’s a pretty great apartment building, like, a block away, but there aren’t any units available right now.” 

“So you’re cool with him staying there until one does?” 

“I guess,” JT says, and he feels his face go a little red. “I don’t know, does it matter?” 

“I was just wondering,” Gabe says, putting his hands up defensively, and JT’s not sure why he’s being so nosy—he usually just makes random small talk, hasn’t made a habit of probing into JT’s personal life before—but he doesn’t like that it seems to only come out when they’re talking about Tyson. 

“Alright, well,” JT says, a little irritated, but he doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence, so they just walk in awkward silence for a few seconds until Gabe changes the topic to something else entirely. JT’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be an olive branch, so he takes it, because he doesn’t really know why Gabe being curious about their friendship bothers him so much in the first place, and really doesn’t want to dwell on it.  

Whatever. JT and Tyson are just— a normal amount of close, and Gabe’s probably just acting weird because Gabe’s fucking weird sometimes. 

…… 

There’s no great reason for JT to be awake right now, but for some late-night reason, he feels like he’s not the only one. It’s not even that late, honestly, just the part of the night when all the lights in the house are off because they all have to be up early for work tomorrow, but there’s some strange instinct that JT can’t shake that tells him he should go downstairs and get a glass of water so he can peek in Tyson’s room and see if the light’s still on. 

He’s not feeling particularly restless; he’s just also not feeling particularly restful.  

It’s a nice night. Tomorrow’s supposed to be unseasonably warm, and JT wonders if a part of him can sense that there’s a pleasant crispness and cool breeze in the near future. He wants to step outside, but he knows that, for the moment, it’s still pretty fucking cold. Sunrise is when it will really start to be nice, and he’ll hopefully be asleep by then. 

He’s thinking about sunrises when he walks into the kitchen, where he’s met with the sight of a familiar set of curls backlit by a computer screen, which means that not only is Tyson awake, but he’s apparently working, if the  _ click click click  _ of laptop keys is anything to go by. 

“Hey,” JT says, and he’s trying to keep his voice down, but it still sounds loud in the quiet house. 

Tyson startles, nearly falling out of his chair, and JT bites back a laugh. 

“Jesus, man,” Tyson says, catching his breath. “Warn a guy.” 

“That was the warning.”

“Well, then, I didn’t realize hockey players were so light on their feet,” Tyson says. “You’re not doing much to convince me this place isn’t haunted.” 

“I mean, it still could be,” JT says. “Not by me, though.” 

Tyson gives him a small smile, then turns back to his laptop, continues to click through photos, and after a second, JT takes a seat next to him. 

“These from the game?” he asks, belatedly realizing that he probably shouldn’t be reading over Tyson’s shoulder, but Tyson doesn’t seem to mind at all, just angles the laptop toward him a little. 

“Not the most recent one,” he says. “I’m just browsing.” 

“Admiring your handiwork?” 

“Something like that,” Tyson says, and he grins in the same way JT’s seen him grin a million times before, but there’s something about it right now that’s— different. A little softer, smaller, less of a smirk and more of an invitation. JT likes the way it looks on him, he decides. 

“Do photographers have favorites?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the photos, because he doesn’t trust himself to keep his eyes on Tyson’s face for too long.

Tyson shrugs. “I mean, we have favorite  _ things.  _ Favorite movies, favorite foods—” 

“I meant favorite photos,” JT says, and then, after a second, “Or, I guess, favorite things to photograph.” 

“Oh, well, that’d be hockey,” Tyson says. 

JT raises his eyebrows. “Really?” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” 

“I don’t know,” JT says honestly. “I mean, I figured it was sports.” 

“Right, and hockey’s the best sport,” Tyson says, like it’s a fact, and all of a sudden, JT has to hold himself back, so he doesn’t just wrap Tyson up in a hug and bury his face in his hair, because that would be weird, but JT just— he feels so seen, like Tyson just  _ gets  _ it, and it’s kind of incredible, knowing there’s someone out there who sees the world the same way he does. 

And it’s not just about hockey, obviously, because there’s also— their friendship, and the fact that Tyson thinks he’s funny, and the way Tyson manages to tease him just enough to make him feel loved but back off before it gets hurtful. There’s just something about them that clicks, and JT has this weird, fleeting thought that he might get to be friends with Tyson for the rest of his life, and that’s just— it’s fucking awesome, really. 

“Who’s the best guy on the team to photograph?” JT says, instead of giving voice to any of the feelings of gratitude currently threatening to burst out of his chest. “Besides Landy, I mean.” 

“Why do you assume Landy’s the instant number one?” 

“Because I’ve seen his face,” JT says. 

“I mean, yeah, he’s blonde, but—” Tyson shrugs. “That’s not the thing that makes someone fun to photograph.” 

“It’s not?” 

“Nah, dude. It’s like— I want someone who’ll make a photo fun, you know? Whoever shows the most personality. Gives me more to work with, you know.” 

“And you say your favorite sport to photograph is hockey,” JT says, raising an eyebrow, and Tyson laughs, this weird, almost sheepish kind of thing. 

Fuck, that’s a nice laugh. 

“This team has a lot more personality than most,” Tyson says. “But even guys who are kind of, y’know, quiet— it’s like, the game is the one place where they’re allowed to have feelings? So I try and catch ‘em then.” 

“Huh,” JT says. “Makes sense, I guess.” 

“It’s a beautiful game,” Tyson says, and JT— he doesn’t know why, but it does something to him, hearing Tyson say the word  _ beautiful.  _ It fits nicely in his mouth, JT thinks, and he knows that’s a weird thought to have, but at the same time, he can’t shake it, can’t pretend it doesn’t just feel— right. Too right, almost. 

The house is suddenly very, very quiet. 

“Dude?” Tyson says. “Everything okay?” 

JT opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s not sure what started this; all he knows is that right now, he doesn’t have enough willpower to tear his eyes away from Tyson’s face, and doesn’t have enough brainpower to form words. 

Tyson furrows his brow, and JT catalogues that, too. 

“Earth to Jimothy Timothy,” Tyson says, and JT forces himself to snap out of this— whatever it is. 

“That nickname isn’t even clever,” he says. “You’re not funny.” He’s glad it’s dark, because he’s probably blushing really, really hard right now. 

“I’m hilarious,” Tyson says, brushing him off. “Dude, where did you go?” 

“Sorry, just— zoned out for a second,” JT says. 

Tyson doesn’t looked convinced, which is probably fair, because JT knows he’s not being all that convincing right now. It’s not even a lie, because he really had just zoned out for a second, but he doesn’t know why, and he’s definitely not capable of explaining it. 

“It’s late,” Tyson says, after a weird pause that feels like it lasts a million seconds, and JT’s heart is beating so, so fast right now. 

He knows he should leave. He’s not sure why, but Tyson feels weirdly dangerous, and even if it’s the kind of dangerous that JT wants to be around, he should just go to his room, take a shower, go for a midnight jog, something,  _ anything  _ to forget this moment. It feels like he and Tyson are the only two people on earth, and there’s a reason, probably a good one, that JT shouldn’t let that feeling grow. 

“You’re doing it again,” Tyson says, his voice a little soft, and JT forces himself to blink a few times and stand the fuck up. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I get spacey when I’m tired.” 

“Evidently,” Tyson says, giving JT a small smile, and either it doesn’t reach his eyes, or the weird computer lighting makes it seem like it doesn’t. 

God, maybe JT really is just tired. He’s pretty sure the world made sense a few minutes ago, until Tyson Jost got him thinking about how much he likes him. 

“I’m going to bed,” JT says, his eyes fixed over the top of Tyson’s head. Even then, he’s a little distracted by the outline of silhouetted curls in his peripheral vision. “Sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” Tyson says, and that stupidly soft smile is still  _ there. _

“I don’t know,” JT says. “I’m— tired. I— whatever.” He shakes his head. “Goodnight.” 

“Night,” Tyson says, turning back to his computer easily, and JT doesn’t let himself turn around to see if his smile is fading, or let himself listen to try and make out if Tyson says something about him under his breath. 

…… 

JT has never been a good sleeper, and over the years, it’s become abundantly clear that that’s largely due to the fact that he hates the process of falling asleep. Not getting ready for bed— that’s fine, that’s— whatever. He’ll brush his teeth and change into clean boxers, and then he’ll crawl under the covers and scroll on his phone for a bit. 

It’s more that moment after he’s put his phone down, when the lights are off and he’s trying to turn his brain off. He’s one of those toss-and-turn sleepers: the room is always too hot, his feet are always too cold, the covers are always too itchy, and he just can never get comfortable. He’ll lie there for hours and hours, and when it’s really bad, he’ll just watch the clock tick down, feeling absolutely exhausted and absolutely powerless to do anything about it. 

Hockey helps, sometimes. 

And then, sometimes, there are just… nights where lying in bed isn’t so bad. 

After JT leaves Tyson downstairs, he goes right under the covers, fully expecting it to be miserable. But apparently the rush to get away from Tyson is making the solitude of his room feel luxurious, and for whatever reason, he doesn’t keep getting distracted by small irritants. 

Instead, he just… curls up with his thoughts, which is rare, because JT doesn’t spend all that much time thinking. He’s a hockey player; they’re not exactly known for being cerebral, let alone poetic. Tonight is different, though— JT’s got loads and loads of thoughts, and they’re not bad thoughts, or scary thoughts, or thoughts that make him want to get out of bed and  _ do _ something. They’re thoughts that are content to be thoughts, daydreams that come with the fanfare of night. 

He thinks about Tyson’s face, impossibly bright, even when the only thing illuminating it is his laptop screen; he thinks about Tyson’s laugh, the way it’s always a little too loud. He thinks about the way Tyson can’t keep a straight face to save his life, and the way Tyson runs his fingers through his hair, and the way Tyson is always touching him, the way his hands are soft. He thinks about the way Tyson’s tongue always sticks out a little bit when he’s taking pictures, and he thinks about the way Tyson’s shirts are always so tight, and he thinks about the first time he saw Tyson in a normal t-shirt, and how his arms still looked amazing even without fabric tugging at the muscles of his biceps. 

JT tries not to think about Tyson’s body too much, but he can’t help but notice it, sometimes. Tyson’s a good looking guy, and he’s shameless about it, too— walks and talks and smiles like he knows exactly the effect he can have on people. JT would be jealous, if he was in the business of comparing himself to other people, but it’s not like he’s out there watching girls reject him in favor of Tyson, and it’s not like Tyson’s got a parade of dates that JT can’t escape. The closest thing JT’s even seen to Tyson with a girl was the first night they’d ever met, when he’d been avoiding someone he knew. 

The night they’d kissed. 

JT doesn’t love admitting it, not even to himself, but he just— he really likes that he and Tyson have done that before, likes that their awesome friendship got off to such a bizarre start. He likes that it was a real kiss, a  _ good  _ kiss, likes that Tyson picked him as the guy he wanted to have as a temporary boyfriend, likes that he doesn’t have to wonder what kissing Tyson is like, because he already knows it’s pretty fucking great. 

For the first time, JT wonders if he’d spend a lot of time thinking about kissing Tyson if he hadn’t already done it. 

As it stands, he already spends a lot of time thinking about kissing Tyson. 

His stomach does something complicated at that thought, and he feels a little bit like he had earlier, when he’d been overcome with the urge to  _ go go go  _ out of nowhere and started acting weird, but this time, the feeling isn’t telling him to do anything. It’s just— poking at him, reminding him that it’s there, a big, ugly stain on his whole thing with Tyson. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get to kiss Tyson again, wonders if he would have, if he’d stayed downstairs any longer. 

He thinks he would have. 

It would have been hard to resist, with Tyson looking so calm, so easy, so— 

Well. 

Beautiful, is the only word for it; specifically, the way  _ beautiful  _ sounds when it falls from Tyson’s lips. 

Maybe there are other words for it, actually. It’s just those words might be even scarier. 

…… 

JT wakes up feeling a special kind of aimless, like he’s just finished something difficult, and the pride’s worn off, and now he just doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Relatedly, JT wakes up the next morning wanting to tangle his hands in Tyson Jost’s hair and kiss him senseless. 

He puts off going downstairs and having to see Tyson’s face for as long as he can; he takes a long, cold shower, then brushes his teeth for five minutes, until Kerf knocks on the door and tells him to quit hogging the bathroom. JT tells him to fuck off, of course, but he’s still got toothpaste in his mouth, and he’s not quite sure if he does it intentionally—he feels like he’s going through his day hovering a few inches over his own body—but it buys him a few minutes while he’s cleaning up the mess. 

It’s all just putting off the inevitable, though, because when JT gets downstairs, of course Tyson’s standing at the counter, and of course he looks the same as he does every morning: slept-on curls pointing in every direction, bare feet peeking out from under the hem of his flannel pants, movements slow and heavy.  

God, he looks like  _ home,  _ looks like something JT wants to wrap himself up in, warm and soft and gentle. 

Then, he yawns— the big, full body kind, the kind that exposes a strip of skin right above his waistband. 

JT forces himself to look away. “Morning,” he says, somehow managing to make it sound normal. 

Tyson just makes a grunting noise. “The toaster oven’s broken.”

“What do you mean, it’s broken?” 

“I mean, I turned the thing—” he points to a knob, “—and nothing happened, so it’s broken.” 

“You’re literally useless,” JT says, walking over to examine it. He has to bend over so he’s at eye level with the machine, and, after a moment, Tyson joins him, which means their arms are pressed up against each other. 

Because JT is an idiot, he turns his head slightly, sees the beginning of stubble on Tyson’s chin, and the crinkle in his forehead. JT can feel how warm his skin is, even though it’s cold in the kitchen— Tyson had probably only wandered in here seconds before JT did. His bed is probably still warm. 

Tyson licks his lips—have they always been so pink?—and JT idly wonders if this is just his life now, if he’s gonna have to learn to adjust to a world where he loses any and all focus every time Tyson Jost, like. Breathes, or something _. _

“Dude,” JT says, forcing himself to think about toaster ovens and absolutely nothing else. “You had it on ‘bake’, not ‘toast’. You’re turning the wrong knob.” 

“ _ You’re _ turning the wrong knob,” Tyson grumbles, mostly nonsensical, and JT quickly slides away from the counter, trying not to look like he’s running from something. 

The weird tension in JT’s chest eases a bit when Kerf comes down, but it doesn’t ever manage to go away entirely. It stays with him, lingers insistently as they load into the car and drive to the rink; it presses on his ribs when he leans forward to lace up his skates, and it settles at the bottom of his lungs as he takes to the ice. 

He just— he feels like everyone can see, like they  _ know,  _ like it’s written on his face that he’s obsessed with Tyson Jost, that he can’t stop thinking about kissing him, that he just—  _ wants _ him, so badly, wants him in a way he’s never wanted someone before.  __

He thinks that this must be what it’s like for other guys, when they talk about wanting to hook up with girls. This is  _ that  _ feeling, the one JT always thought he’d managed to avoid, the overwhelming desire to get his hands on another person, to explore every inch of their skin. He thinks back to the girls he’s hooked up with before, and he knows he’d thought they were all hot, but he’s starting to realize that he maybe hadn’t actually…  _ wanted  _ them, not really. He’d wanted to feel good, wanted to know what it was like to be close to someone else like that, and maybe, deep down, he’d wanted to see if it could make something click— 

But that’s not the same as wanting another person, and JT knows that now, because he wants Tyson. 

Tyson, who lives in the same fucking house as him; Tyson, who works for the team that JT plays for; Tyson, who has done more to make JT’s life better than one person should reasonably be able to achieve, just by existing in it; Tyson, who— who  _ is Tyson _ , JT’s roommate and friend and favorite person, and, quite possibly, his everything. 

Tyson, who’s… a guy.

JT doesn’t even— he’s never even considered liking guys before. He hadn’t known it was a thing he  _ should _ consider, because it always seemed like people like that just know. He’d never felt different growing up, and he’s filled with a weird anxiety at that thought, like maybe he had been but just hadn’t realized it. Maybe he’d been wrong when he told himself that everyone exaggerated their feelings, that everyone had to make a conscious effort to learn what was and wasn’t attractive and that people who seemed to get it more easily were just faster learners than he was. He’d thought that every boy would prefer to spend time with other boys, but that they had to spend time with girls, because they had to date them, and dating them was worth it. Girls were shrouded in mystery, and sex was shrouded in mystery, and everyone just wanted to figure those things out because they were  _ curious.  _

And JT had been curious, once upon a time, but it was never like this. 

He feels like he’s 13 again, like he’s scared of his brain’s capacity to want, like everything’s out of control, except this time, the things he wants aren’t abstract impulses about sensations. He wants something real, wants some _ one _ , wants a guy, wants Tyson fucking Jost.  

“Hey,” a voice says, snapping JT out of his funk, and when he looks up, he sees that it’s Nate. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just— didn’t sleep well last night,” JT lies. 

“Right,” Nate says. “Well, stop being a loner, and maybe your teammates can help you perk up.” 

JT doesn’t know if he’s capable of casual conversation right now, but he figures that he can’t hide from the world while he waits for this crisis to be over. “Coffee would probably be better.” 

Nate claps him on the back. “After practice,” he says. “We can make a Starbucks run, or something. How’s that sound?” 

“Sweet,” JT says. “I might be busy, but, uh— maybe.” He feels like an asshole for turning him down, but the thought of hanging out with people makes him feel a little sick, and that takes precedence. 

“Might be?” Nate raises an eyebrow. 

JT shrugs. “We’ll see,” he says, and Nate looks like he’s about to say something else, but thankfully, a whistle blows, and they both have to turn their attention back to hockey. 

…… 

It’s not that JT is avoiding his teammates; he goes out after wins, responds an appropriate amount in the group chat, and generally takes great care to make sure he’s enough of a presence in obligatory social events that no one could rightly accuse him of being withdrawn. It’s not like he’s ever been a loud personality, anyway. If he’s slightly more on-edge than usual, and maybe a little more quiet as a result, then so be it. 

He’s good at this, keeping to himself. It’s a little harder around Tyson, because he can’t really hide behind anyone else when it’s just the two of them, but he does have Kerf, and if he’s busy or out, he’ll make sure they’re not just ‘hanging out’, but actually  _ doing  _ something. As long as Tyson’s not focusing all his energy on JT, he’s not going to pick up on the fact that something’s different. 

And maybe nothing  _ is  _ different. It’s not exactly news that JT wants to spend time with Tyson more than he wants to do pretty much anything else. He’s just a little more aware of it, is all, which means he has to be careful to not clue Tyson in as to why. 

In other words, JT is spending a considerable amount of energy every day pretending that he’s absolutely fine and making sure no one even suspects otherwise. 

He knows it’s not a permanent solution, but he figures it’ll buy him some time to sort himself out about the whole Tyson thing. Not that there’s anything to sort out, really— JT knows what his feelings are, and he knows he can’t really do anything about them but sit around and try to wait them out. Right now, he’s just trying to stop them from getting worse, put some distance between him and Tyson without Tyson noticing, and it’s working… decently. 

Or, okay, maybe not decently, because even just being in the same room as Tyson is hard, but JT’s working on being disciplined about things like stealing a glance when Tyson’s taking off his sweatshirt in the hopes of seeing the patch of skin right above his waistband. He might not be able to control whether or not his mouth goes dry at the sight, but he can at least use it as an opportunity to remind himself that he’ll never get to put his hands there, or anywhere else, and even if his mind doesn’t fully accept that— again, it’s a work in progress. Eventually, the stupid fluttery hope feelings will go away, and the voice in the back of his head that says things like  _ you don’t know that for sure  _ and  _ he kissed you, remember?  _ will have to shut up eventually.

For right now, JT’s practicing total emotional disengagement, and it works for about a week and a half. 

Then, Kerf invites Tyson out for a drink with the guys, and that throws JT for a loop. 

He’s just been so careful about not letting any wires get crossed in his head, but being in the same place as Tyson and the team is difficult ground to tread. His instincts are telling him to stick to Tyson’s side the entire time, and he should ignore those instincts, except if he avoids Tyson, everyone will know that something’s up with Tyson. 

The only real middle ground is to sit next to Tyson and engage with everyone as little as possible, which is maybe a little rude, but JT’s probably gonna throw out some excuse about being tired and leave after an hour, so he figures he’ll be able to use that as an excuse. 

Tyson is in fine form tonight, and he’s already done more than one round of shots before JT’s even halfway done with his beer. His presence is a nice buffer from guys goading him into being more fun, but it doesn’t stop JT from feeling vaguely guilty and sort of jealous. He’d love to let loose and have a good time, he really would. It’s just. Not an option right now. If he gets too comfortable, he could say something he shouldn’t and fuck things up with Tyson forever. 

“Yo,” Tyson says, elbowing him. “You in?” 

“What?” JT says, because he hasn’t actually been paying attention to the conversation. 

“Pool,” Tyson says, giving him a weird look. “We’re gonna go play.”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” JT says.

Tyson doesn’t move. “You okay, man?” 

“Yeah, just—” JT shrugs. “I’m fine.” 

There’s a second where Tyson looks like he’s gonna push this, and JT braces for it, but he just purses his lips. “Alright,” he says, and gives JT a disappointed nod before he wanders over to the pool table, where EJ is racking up the billiard balls. 

JT is a bad friend, and he knows it, but the worst part is that it doesn’t even pay off— he can’t help but stare whenever Tyson bends over the pool table, or laughs at one of Mikko’s jokes, or ruffles G’s hair just to be a dick. He’s wearing a button-up, but he’s been getting comfortable, and it’s just— too much, seeing Tyson all flushed and loose and giggly, three buttons undone and sleeves rolled up. There’s so much skin, so much joy, and, above all, so much  _ Tyson,  _ and JT can’t fucking handle it. 

“I’ll be back in a second,” he mumbles, not checking to see if anyone heard him before he gets up. It’s a large group of people; he doubts anyone will notice if he leaves. 

The bathroom isn’t private, but it’s empty for now, and JT is pretty sure he’s not actually having a breakdown. He just— he needed a break. There’s a difference. If he were having a breakdown, he’d need to lock himself in a stall and block out the world for a few minutes, but as it stands, he’s pretty sure that splashing water on his face and taking one deep breath will take care of this. 

It’s fine. He’s just not used to dealing with this in public, is all, but it’s not like people are gonna catch him red-handed having feelings. That’s not how people work, or how feelings work, so— he’s probably being ridiculous. 

He hopes he’s being ridiculous. 

After he spends a solid thirty seconds staring at his reflection and telling himself to calm the fuck down, he feels a little more steady, but it’s still not quite normal. He checks his watch, sees he’s been there an hour, and decides that’s long enough— and honestly, even if it wasn’t, he’d probably just leave anyway, because he can’t be here anymore. It’s painful, having to hold himself back like this, and there’s a line between being disciplined and being a masochist for no reason.  

He considers going around and saying goodbye to his teammates one by one, but that sounds exhausting. Maybe he’s just tired from having his guard up 24/7 lately; at the very least, he’s probably looking worn-down enough that no one would question it if he did bother with an excuse. 

JT is a grown man, though, and he doesn’t need to explain where he’s going to anyone but his roommates, so he does just that, finds Kerfy and Tyson—in the same place, thankfully—and lets them know that he’s heading out. 

“Alright,” Kerf says, not looking at all surprised, but Tyson’s face is all worried again, and this time, JT feels a curl of guilt deep in his stomach. 

“But— we just got here,” Tyson says. “Are you sure?” 

JT shrugs. “I’m not really feeling up to it.” 

“What does that mean?” Tyson presses.  

JT frowns, and he knows he shouldn’t get annoyed, but— “It means I’m not feeling up to it.” 

“But if something’s wrong—” 

“Dude,” Kerf says to Tyson, his voice a little gentle, and there’s this weird undertone that has JT wondering if Kerf inviting Tyson out with them hadn’t been as casual as he’d thought. “It’s fine, we’ll see Comphy at home.” 

“Right, so I’m just gonna—” 

“I’ll wait for a cab with you,” Tyson says stubbornly, and Kerf looks vaguely concerned, but JT just shrugs again, because it’s not like he’s gonna put up a fight. 

They walk in awkward silence until they’re standing in the vestibule, waiting for Lyft to load on JT’s phone. Tyson is definitely drunk, but he looks pissed off, and JT doesn’t exactly want to have an argument, but he would rather get yelled at by Tyson than be paranoid that he’s getting worried. 

“I should switch providers,” JT says, awkwardly waving the screen of his phone in Tyson’s direction. “No 4G here.” 

Apparently, that’s all it takes to get it out of Tyson. 

“Did I, like, do something wrong, dude?” he asks, the words coming out in a rush. He’s still all red-faced and frowning, but it’s not angry anymore, just— scared. 

JT blinks. “What?” 

“In there,” Tyson says. “You’ve been weird and quiet all night, and then you just leave, and—” He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little helpless. “I don’t know. If you didn’t want me to come, you could’ve just—” 

“Wh— dude, no, you didn’t—” JT shakes his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts. “I’m sorry I was an asshole in there.” 

“I mean, you’re allowed to be an asshole sometimes, I just want to know why,” Tyson says. 

“I told you, I’m not feeling up to it.” 

“But are you angry? Are you tired? Are you sick? I know how hockey players can be, but, dude, if you’re sick, you’ve gotta tell—” 

“We’ve got trainers to worry about that,” JT says, a little taken aback. “And I’d tell them, I promise, I’m not—” 

“You’re tired all the time,” Tyson says.

“I’m not,” JT says. “Or, I mean, I am, but that’s normal.” 

“Promise?” 

“Of course,” JT says, and he means it, too. He can’t lie to Tyson, especially not about things that matter; it’s sort of his whole problem right now. “It’s the middle of the season, I’m just sort of—” He does a hand gesture. “—out of it, y’know?” 

“But you’re okay,” Tyson says. 

“Yeah,” JT says. “I’m okay.” 

Tyson looks at him for a second, and JT feels his face heat up despite the cold. “I know you don’t really talk about… things, or whatever, but— it helps sometimes, you know.” 

“I talk about things,” JT says. “I talk to  _ you _ about things plenty, man.” 

“Not lately,” Tyson says, and then he shifts from foot to foot. “And that’s fine, obviously. I just— would you tell me, if I did something wrong?” 

“Yes,” JT says without hesitation.  

“Would you tell me if something was wrong with you?” Tyson says. “If you needed… help, or whatever?” 

“Yes.” It comes out a little softer this time, but it’s just as sure. 

“And there’s nothing wrong right now,” Tyson says. “You promise.” 

JT can’t lie to Tyson, so it shouldn’t be so easy to say, “I promise there’s nothing wrong,” but here’s the thing: even if every other minute of tonight has been agony, right now, it’s true. JT  _ is  _ okay, because Tyson needs him to be, and because Tyson is  _ here.  _ When JT is with Tyson, just existing as the person he’s become since Tyson Jost entered his life, there can’t really be anything wrong. Tyson just— makes everything in JT’s life seem a little more manageable, somehow. 

JT is looking right at Tyson’s eyes, soft and earnest and warm. He could drown in them, or maybe just anchor a hand in the soft curls resting on Tyson’s forehead and float. 

He lifts his hand, and for a second, he’s almost going to— to reach out, or something, but then a cold gust of reality blows into the vestibule like an airborne ice bath. 

“I should go,” he says, quickly stuffing his hands in his pockets. “See if I get better service outside.” 

“Do you want me to wait with you?” Tyson asks. 

JT shakes his head. “Nah, by the time you get your coat, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.” 

“Alright.” 

“I—” JT bites his lip. “Thanks.” 

“What, for offering to wait?” 

“No, I mean— for checking,” JT says. “You’re a good friend, Tyson.” 

“Well, you’re my best friend, so.” 

JT gives him a smile. “Have a fun night.” 

“I’ll see you at home?” 

“Yep,” JT says, and, after a second of hesitation, he turns around, opens the door, and walks out of the vestibule into the cold. 

He assumes Tyson does the same, but he doesn’t turn around to check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...good thing jt _pieced_ that one together, huh (get it? get it?? haha i'm funny)
> 
>  **coming up:** a chapter inspired by the entirety of "expectations" by hayley kiyoko, plus "i think we're alone now" by tiffany and of course "run away with me" by carly rae jepsen.


	3. Chapter 3

After that, things get a lot harder, and also a little easier. 

It’s a better tradeoff than it sounds, honestly. Constant agony, as it turns out, isn’t the worst thing in the world. For instance, it’s far preferable to being frozen in place due to a debilitating fear of making a bad situation worse, because it turns out, sometimes things just suck, and that’s… almost okay. 

In other words, JT has more or less lost control of his life, but at least he’s giving up the reins on his terms. 

JT goes back to normal—more or less—with Tyson, which means they share smiles at work, sit too close on the couch, and, in JT’s case, blush deeply whenever anyone asks about any of it. JT can’t tell if everyone’s feeling a little more relieved, or if it’s just him, but either way, he can feel it in every part of his life— in the locker room, in the living room, in his car as he hums along to whatever song is playing. These days, he’s been rotating between Pharrell, Wham!, and some of the more upbeat Taylor Swift songs. 

It’s a reckless, aggressive counterspiral to whatever he’d been doing before, but he figures that as long as he recognizes that, he’s fine. This won’t last forever, and eventually he’ll find some middle ground, but he figures he can ride this wave for a while, enjoy the good mood while it lasts. 

Of course, it comes to a screeching halt out of nowhere, thanks to the other Tyson, of all people.

JT’s Tyson isn’t there when it happens, because he’s just walked off, and JT is staring, smiling dumbly in his direction. And the fact that he’s not there is maybe the only stroke of luck JT has, because when Barrie asks, “Is something, like, going on with you two?” it just— it lands  _ hard,  _ and JT feels like a balloon being yanked out of the air and slammed into the ground. 

JT isn’t sure how long he stands there like a deer caught in headlights, feeling like an idiot but not sure how to make it stop, because he can’t really form words, right now— it’s like he’s been  _ caught,  _ the way alarms are sounding in his head. Blaring, really. It’s so goddamn loud that he can’t think over it, and he’s afraid that if he tries to open his mouth, he’s going to cry or puke or say something he’s not ready to say.  

“Uh,” Tyson says, furrowing his brow, “I meant, like, are you two up to something, not—” 

“I’ve gotta—” JT says, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence, because fuck, fuck,  _ fuck,  _ he doesn’t— he can’t. He just— he can’t let whatever this is become real yet, not when he hasn’t even figured out how to think about it. 

He turns on his heel and walks away fast, not even sure where he’s going, which is a special kind of embarrassing— running away is bad enough, but he doesn’t even know what he’s running to. He’s wearing his street clothes, but his stuff is still in the dressing room, and he doesn’t know if there’s any way he could get outside without having to walk past people. There’s not enough air to breathe in here, but JT can’t be around anyone right now, and he’s scared of something so huge and vague and ominous that he can barely bring himself to try and let it take shape. 

Eventually, he walks up a flight of stairs and finds an alcove, and he’s not quite sure where he is, but there’s a water fountain. He forces himself to take small sips, and he realizes that his breath is short when he leans over, so he tries to slow it down, makes his lungs take in more air. If he can’t control his brain, he might as well control his body, because he’s an athlete, and that’s something athletes know how to do. 

It works as well as JT could have hoped. He starts to feel a little more like himself, which should maybe be a relief, but he mostly is just— exhausted, humiliated, confused about everything that just happened. 

“Okay,” he says on an exhale, and his voice sounds mostly normal, which is good. “Okay.” 

He stands there, hands braced over the water fountain, trying to work up the courage to go back downstairs. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but he has to imagine that most everyone’s gone right now, and if he keeps his head down, he might not have to— 

His train of thought is cut off by the sound of footsteps. 

“Comph?” says Landy’s voice, effectively killing any hope JT had of not having to engage in conversation, and when he looks up, he sees that Gabe’s got Tyson Barrie in tow. Going by the cautious looks on their faces, JT would guess that they’ve been looking for him, which effectively makes him feel like a child who just stormed off to have a temper tantrum. 

“Hi,” JT says, trying to sound as polite as humanly possible. 

“Hey,” Tyson says. “So, look, about before—” 

“Yeah, sorry I sort of, y’know. Ran away,” JT says, throwing in a smile that he hopes looks calm. “It was just one of those moments where you just gotta…” he lets his voice trail off, then gives his best approximation of an easy shrug. “You know what it’s like.” 

“No, don’t worry about it, just— I, uh, wanted to make sure you were okay,” Tyson says.  

“I’m fine,” JT says, because he can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t be fine, and as a rule, he doesn’t talk about feelings unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say.

Tyson looks at him for a beat, then furrows his brow, and says, “You should really get better at lying.” 

Gabe elbows him. “Not helpful, Tys.” 

“What? I’m just saying,” Tyson protests, then turns to JT. “Like, no offense, but clearly you were just going through something, and we could probably help.” 

“We  _ want  _ to help,” Gabe corrects, shooting Tyson a look. “Because we’re your teammates, and we care about you.”

“I appreciate that, but— it’s nothing, okay? I promise,” JT says.

“No, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t nothing,” Tyson says. “Like, I’ve been there, dude.”

JT feels like he’s bursting at the seams, trying to downplay this. “I didn’t— it wasn’t about anything you said.” 

“Okay,” Tyson says, and he nods, but he doesn’t sound super convinced.

“If you want to tell us what it was about, you can,” Gabe says.

“Right, and I’m saying I don’t want to, okay?” JT snaps, and he knows it’s uncalled for, but Gabe’s using this voice, one that reminds him of his guidance counselor back in high school. It’s earnest, but also incredibly condescending, and JT can’t stand that he’s being talked down to right now. 

Then, Gabe’s face falls, and JT goes from being a vindictive asshole to just being an asshole. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, a little mortified. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I get it, I was being pushy,” Gabe says.

“Yeah, you were,” Tyson says. He turns to JT. “I mean, you’ve gotta know we’re worried about you.”

JT nods, his eyes fixed on his feet. “I’m just having a weird day,” he says. “That’s it. I swear.”

“It’s not… just today,” Tyson says. “You’ve been off a lot, lately.”

“What do you mean?” JT asks, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. 

“Well, uh— you always seem tired, and you’re… what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Distant?” Gabe suggests. 

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “And it’s fine, you’re going through something and you don’t want us to get involved, but— you shouldn’t feel like you have to pull away from us because of it. You don’t have to keep it to yourself, you know?”

JT sighs, puts his fingers to his temples. “I don’t know, I’ve been feeling— just, like, kind of weird about Josty, lately, but it’s fine, okay?” 

“What do you mean by weird?” Gabe asks. 

“I—” JT lets out a breath, but it’s shallower than he wants it to be. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Just, like, lots of— feelings. Fuck, I don’t know.” 

It’s not what he meant to say, and it feels like an admission, which— there’s too much that’s all tangled together, and JT doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to pull it apart. He can’t talk about the Tyson thing without talking about the rest of it, as if what he’s feeling for Tyson isn’t stressful enough on its own. It’s not fucking fair, that this is so goddamn difficult, and it’s not fucking fair that his brain is choosing the middle of practice to make him confront all of it. 

“Feelings,” Tyson echoes. “Like— feelings-feelings?” 

JT feels like he’s a kid who doesn’t have the words to talk about his feelings yet; he feels like he’s gonna be sick. “Just, forget I said anything, okay? I’m fine.” 

He tries to leave, but Gabe shakes his head. “No, hey, we can forget,” he says. “We didn’t mean to push.” 

“You don’t have to tell us shit if you don’t want,” Tyson says. “But, like, you also can tell us shit if you do want, because, y’know, shit’s stressful.” 

“And we’re not gonna judge you,” Gabe says. 

“Right, that too,” Tyson says. “Think of us as your cool, hip older cousins, who you go to with stuff that’s too serious for your usual friends, but you don’t want to tell your parents.” 

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Or, you know, something less specific than that.”

Tyson shoots him a glare, then says, “Point is, you can trust us with stuff that you’re not sure you can trust us with.” 

JT hasn’t even begun to think about who he can and can’t trust with things, because there’s too much to work through, but he figures he can’t avoid this part of it forever, so he takes the deepest breath he can manage, which isn’t all that deep.

“It’s just been super confusing lately,” JT says. “And I’m just really fucking confused.”  

It doesn’t even mean anything, is the thing, so he’s not sure why he’s so scared as soon as he says it, but he sees something in their faces— recognition, he thinks. Understanding. 

“Welcome to the club,” Tyson says, and JT isn’t really sure if he’s talking about being confused or the rest of it, but like fuck is he going to ask.  “Look, I know there’s just— a lot of stuff, and it’s different for everyone, but— you’re fine. You’ll be  _ fine.  _ Trust your gut and be real with yourself, and whenever it feels like too much, just take a super fucking deep breath, alright?” 

JT nods a little absently, and Gabe says, “That’s… really good advice.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Tyson says. “I’m good at things sometimes.”  

JT looks between them, and, for a second, sees something that he kind of wants to follow up on, but he decides that’s a question for later, or maybe never. He’s pretty sure they see him putting the pieces together, and Gabe puts a hand on Tyson’s back, like he’s silently confirming. 

This should probably be, like, blowing his mind right now, but he doesn’t really have the energy for that, and no one’s really saying anything out loud. If JT’s having the silent conversation he thinks he is, he’s mostly just relieved, and kind of amazed, but in a happy way. 

He still can’t really react to much of anything right now, though. The panic is over, but now he’s just tired, a little embarrassed, and kind of anxious for this whole conversation to be over. 

“Thank you guys,” JT says, and the world around him starts to come back into focus. “This… helped. A lot, actually.” 

“No problem,” Tyson says. 

“You know we’ve got your back, man,” Gabe says, giving him a pat on the shoulder.  “We’re here for you, okay?” 

“For sure,” JT says. “I should, uh, probably leave, but— you won’t… tell anyone about this, right?” 

“Of course not,” Gabe says.

“Just each other,” Tyson adds cheerfully, and Gabe gives him a disapproving look before they proceed to have an entire conversation only using various facial expressions. 

JT wonders how he hadn’t noticed this before; when he plays back everything he knows about their friendship in his head— it just. Makes so much sense. 

“Alright, I’m heading out,” JT says. “See you later.” 

“So long,” Tyson says. “And, for the record, if you want to talk more about being confused, I have tons of experience to share.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” JT says absently, and he gives them one final nod goodbye before he walks out of the alcove, grabs his stuff in the dressing room as quickly as he possibly can, and leaves the rink. 

The sky is a lot bluer than he’s expecting it to be when he steps outside— this morning had been sort of gray, but at some point during practice, the day had turned into a nice one. JT stops in his tracks and sort of stares at the sky, and, after a second, realizes he feels… okay. 

Like. He’s obviously confused as hell, and he’s still pretty fucking scared, but he talked about things, had conversations he didn’t know he was ready to have, but they happened, and now things seem a little more real, make a little more sense. 

The world feels different, but also a bit like it’s at his fingertips. 

He hadn’t expected that second part. 

…… 

“Hey,” Tyson says as he walks into the living room one afternoon in the middle of a homestand. JT’s sitting on the couch, eating popcorn and half-watching a  _ Friends  _ rerun. “You guys have a day off tomorrow, right?” 

They do have a day off tomorrow, because they just got back from a roadie last night and had practice today, and everyone had been a little too slow on their feet. 

JT can already tell that this conversation is not going to end well for him. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. 

“Have any plans for tonight?” 

JT is very proud of how quickly he tamps down the stupid hope-butterflies in his stomach. “Sleep,” he says. “And then sleeping in tomorrow.” 

“Right, because you’re a pro athlete, so you could probably use the rest,” Tyson says, nodding, but he’s still bouncing a little bit, which means the conversation is far from over. 

JT gives him an unamused look. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” Tyson says, sitting down next to JT, body angled to face him. He’s got his elbow on the back of the couch, his head resting in his hand, and the whole thing is so stupidly charming that JT is already regretting agreeing to whatever stupid plan Tyson’s about to pitch. “I want to go skating.” 

“Okay,” JT says. “And?” 

“And, I was thinking tonight might be a good opportunity to—” 

JT shakes his head. “No, I mean, you work at an ice rink and you live with hockey players. You could go ice skating literally whenever you want. What’s the catch?” 

“I was getting to that,” Tyson says. “Well, um. You know how I was at the rink late last night for that event thingy?” 

“Sure,” JT says. 

“Well, it turns out, I was the last to leave. Like, the very last, because I wanted to get some shots down at ice level, and— whatever, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I was there too late, and the security people were clocking out, so I asked them if they wanted me to leave, and then they were like, ‘No, it’s fine, just make sure the door is closed behind you when you leave.’” 

“Seriously?”

“I mean, they know me and stuff. I guess they figured I was trustworthy,” Tyson says.  

JT sighs, because Tyson’s grin is way too mischievous right now. “What did you do, Jost?” 

“Dude, you don’t understand. I’ve never had power like that before,” Tyson says. “Like, if I wanted to, I could just open the fuckin’ Pepsi Center up and unleash the Denver public on it—” 

“So, you propped the door open with a rock, or what?” 

Tyson pouts. “You’re no fun,” he says. “It was a shoe, actually.” 

“A shoe?” 

“I dunno, a doorstop’s a doorstop,” Tyson says. 

“Yeah, but what did you wear?” 

“Well— I mean, my car wasn’t  _ that  _ far—” 

“Oh my god,  _ Tyson.”  _

“What? It’s not like it was cold or raining or something.” 

“Yeah, but you were outdoors, and barefoot.” 

“Half barefoot!” Tyson protests. “Anyway, it’s not like I got tetanus, so it’s fine.” 

“What the fuck,” JT says. “What the actual fuck, dude.” 

Tyson punches him in the arm lightly. “You love it,” he says. “Anyway, I checked schedules and stuff to make sure no one was gonna be using it today, and my shoe was still there when I looked earlier, so.” 

“You didn’t bring a different doorstop?” 

“I was trying to be discreet, and— whatever, they’re too small on me anyway.”

“So this was clearly the logical way to get rid of them,” JT says. 

“Maybe it is,” Tyson says. “Come  _ on, _ dude.” 

“What?” 

“Let’s go skating,” Tyson says. 

“And when you say skating, you mean, let’s break into the Pepsi Center, somehow find two pairs of skates in our size, get onto the ice, skate, hope we don’t set off any alarms, grab your shoe on our way out, and assume there are no security cameras to capture any of it?” 

“Yes,” Tyson says, and, after a second, “Well, we could bring our own skates, probably, but that’s the general plan.” 

“Right,” JT says. 

It’s a terrible fucking plan. 

“Well?” Tyson asks, and JT takes one look at his face, which is definitely a mistake, because it’s so earnest, so pleading, so goddamn  _ cute  _ that it would probably be hard for anyone to turn it down, even someone who’s not pathologically incapable of saying no to him. 

“If this ruins my entire hockey career, you’re moving to Europe with me, and you’re gonna be the biggest fucking fan of whatever team is willing to give me a contract,” JT says, standing up. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Tyson says. “Try for somewhere fun, though. Like Berlin.” 

“Why Berlin?” 

Tyson shrugs. “I’ve heard good things.”

“Being friends with you might be the worst thing to ever happen to me,” JT says, and it’s a lie, it’s obviously a lie, but then Tyson smiles, and JT thinks there might be some truth to it after all. 

…… 

Sneaking into the rink is embarrassingly easy; Tyson’s shoe is still wedged in the doorway, and he gives JT a smug look over it, then leaves it there once they’re inside. 

“Dude, take it back,” JT says. 

“No,” Tyson says. “Why would I lug it around? It’s fine, I’ll grab it on the way out.” 

“You’re gonna forget.” 

“Will not.” 

“Will too.” 

Tyson sticks his tongue out, because he’s apparently a child, and JT rolls his eyes and turns away so Tyson can’t see him smile. Not that Tyson can’t probably guess, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Apparently, the lights in the Pepsi Center are automatic, which probably makes sense, but JT feels weird about it. Or maybe he feels weird about the fact that he hadn’t noticed until tonight. It’s strange, being somewhere you spend so much time under such different circumstances, especially when you’re not supposed to be there— kind of like school on a Saturday morning, except even weirder, because no one goes to school on a Saturday unless they’re supposed to. It’s probably more like that time JT’s freshman year roommate climbed to the top of the Bio building, except JT hadn’t actually been there for that, so he can’t really say. 

The point is, it’s super fucking weird seeing this place so empty and knowing that he’s not supposed to be here. He doesn’t even know what would happen if they got caught, but he’s not even really dwelling on it too much, because— well. It’s exciting, and JT’s not usually the kind of guy people take on adventures.

As they lace up their skates, JT thinks about how his hands would probably be shaking if he wasn’t so used to doing this with tons of adrenaline running through him. 

“I used to play hockey,” Tyson says as they stare out at the ice. “I mean, everyone did. But I played for most of high school. I actually played beer league for, like, a month, before I moved here.” 

“That’s not nothing,” JT says. “Why’d you stop?” 

“Oh, you know,” Tyson says, which isn’t anything like an answer. 

JT wants to press, but— if Tyson wants him to know more, he’ll tell him. Right now, JT’s feeling a little touched that Tyson shared a secret with him. Tyson’s… not really one for sharing, weirdly enough.  

“So I’m not gonna have to teach you how to skate, then,” JT says, and he means for it to be a joke, but it comes out wrong, like it’s a hollow placeholder for something too big and too sincere to say right now. Maybe it is; JT doesn’t know. He feels dangerously close to saying something stupid, even though he’s not quite sure how to put words to the feeling that’s bubbling up inside of him right now. 

“I like to think I’m pretty decent,” Tyson says, and before JT can really process what’s happening, Tyson’s stepping onto the ice, carving sharp white swirls into the glassy expanse as he takes slow, steady strides. 

It’s captivating, really. Not even that it’s the most beautiful skating JT’s ever seen, because of course it’s not, but it’s still Tyson on the ice, comfortably gliding around like he belongs, and it’s late and they’re alone and of course, of  _ course _ it takes JT’s breath away. Watching someone skate is kind of like looking in someone’s eyes, JT thinks— eyes are just kind of a beautiful feature, so of course they’ll look magnificent and special when they belong to someone you already think is beautiful. 

“Gonna join me, bud?” Tyson calls, and JT has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling as he steps onto the ice.  

“You’re not bad,” JT says, skating over to him. “I’d believe you played hockey.”  

“It’s been a while,” Tyson says. 

“Since you played?” 

“Since I skated,” Tyson says.  “I had to dig these out of my trunk yesterday, I haven’t used them since I moved here.” 

“Guess it’s like riding a bike, then,” JT says. 

Tyson gives him a small smile, then starts to skate again, and JT follows suit, occasionally throwing in some crossovers or turning backwards when it’s not strictly necessary. It’s not that he’s trying to show off for Tyson, but he’s also… not  _ not  _ trying to show off for him. He knows Tyson’s seen him skate plenty, but it feels different, without any teammates or cameras in the way. 

“Man, this place is big,” JT says, looking up at the seats as he sort of twirls. 

“Haven’t you been playing here for a while?” Tyson says. “I know you’re focused on the game, but you look up sometimes.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” JT says. “It’s just weird to think about, is all.” 

“What is?” 

“All of it, I guess,” JT says. “I dunno. I’m, like,  _ in  _ the NHL, y’know?” 

“It’s not like you ended up here by accident,” Tyson says. 

“No, I know, but it’s like— it’s weird that it all worked, you know? Like, I knew how to get to the NHL, but it’s just— weird.” 

Tyson nods, then smiles, this weird, sad thing, like he almost wants to laugh. “Our lives are so different, man.” 

“Oh,” JT says, a little awkward. 

“I mean, it’s not bad, just— you knew what you wanted to do, you had a plan, you followed it, you’re, like, living your dream.” 

“And you’re not?” JT asks. 

“Well— I guess I am,” Tyson says. “But there’s a difference between working your whole life for one thing, and emailing someone your portfolio on a whim and hoping there’s a job available.” 

“Is that how you ended up here?” 

Tyson nods. “I lied about having plans to move to Denver already, too. I just— I needed a new job, and a new life, but then I got it, and now I feel like...” He shrugs. “I mean, my job is insanely cool, but I feel weird about how everything turned out, I guess.” 

Generally speaking, JT isn’t great at reading between the lines, but he is good at reading Tyson, and he doesn’t think this subtext is particularly hard to pick up on. “I mean, I obviously don’t know anything about photography, but— your pictures are good,” JT says. “And everyone’s really happy you’re part of the team, so, like, even if you just needed to be somewhere else, we’re glad you ended up here.” 

“Who’s ‘we’?” Tyson asks, smiling a little, but he’s not quite meeting JT’s eye.

“I mean, Lauren and Keefer and those guys, and also… y’know. The boys.” JT hesitates for a second, then adds, “Me.” 

“Thanks,” Tyson says, and JT isn’t sure if it’s actually half a beat too late, or if he’s just processing things weirdly. It’s sort of a surreal moment. This is sort of a surreal night.

They skate in silence for a few seconds, because JT doesn’t trust himself to speak, and because if he’s moving, it’s not easy to reach out and touch Tyson, so he doesn’t have to think about how much he wants to. Tyson’s face is all thoughtful, his brow furrowed in the middle, and it’s unfairly cute for something that’s also kind of terrifying. 

It’s Tyson who finally speaks. “So, like— thanks. For this.” 

“For what?” 

“For… tonight, I guess, and also— I dunno. Letting me stay at your place, and, like…” His voice trails off. “For everything, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome,” JT says. “I mean, it’s like— what are friends for, right?” 

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “Exactly. So, uh. Thanks.” His face is bright red, and he’s staring at his feet, and JT wants to kiss him so badly it  _ hurts.  _ It’s like everything in him is screaming at him to reach out and pull Tyson in, but he can’t, because Tyson is too fucking important to him, and because Tyson just thanked him for that, and because—even with the baggage and the bullshit and the confusion—caring too much about Tyson Jost is one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. 

“Well,” JT says. “Thank you for the jigsaw puzzles, then.” 

Tyson smiles, but doesn’t look up. “No problem, dude.” 

“And for the adventures, and for cooking for us,” JT says. “And— y’know. For everything, too.” 

“Of course,” Tyson says, his voice a little soft, and then his eyes go wide, like he hadn’t quite meant to say that. 

It’s— it’s a  _ moment,  _ JT thinks. Except actually, JT’s sure of it, because there’s no way Tyson doesn’t feel it too, not with the way he’s blushing. 

The air is heavy after that, and JT isn’t sure what any of it means. He feels like he just gave himself away, put his feelings on display for Tyson to see, and that would be scary if it wasn’t so fucking bizarre to think about. For all JT’s been worried about not getting caught caring too much, he’s never been scared of Tyson catching him, because he knows that he’ll be safe as long as he doesn’t say anything direct and undeniable. That’s how people work— when you care about someone a lot, and something shifts, you’ll do everything in your power to ignore the change, because then, no one’s feelings get hurt. 

In other words, JT hasn’t really thought about whether or not Tyson feels something for him. 

Actually— no. He’s thought a lot about it, because that’s what you do when you have feelings for someone, but he’s never thought about it seriously, never imagined that Tyson’s sitting down and grappling with the same big, sticky ball of emotions that he is. 

He’s starting to wonder if he should have, because the way Tyson’s acting tonight— it’s different, sort of. Things are usually easy between them; right now, it’s strained in a breathless kind of way. But it’s not all that different, because this kind of heaviness feels… if not familiar, then at least inevitable enough that it doesn’t make JT feel  _ bad.  _ It’s like they’re on the precipice of something, and even though JT knows he should be terrified, he’s mostly just excited, even though he knows it’s not gonna amount to anything. It’s like, someday, when he’s moved on from all this, he’ll look back on this moment and remember the rush of this feeling, and that will always be something real, something important. 

“Hey,” Tyson says, snapping JT out of his train of thought. 

JT blinks. “Yeah?” 

“We should go ice skating more,” Tyson says. “I think I missed it.” 

“We can,” JT says easily. 

“Maybe next time I’ll bring sticks and shit,” Tyson says. “See if my hands are still any good.” 

“We could go find a lake or something,” JT says. “Play some shinny, maybe.” 

“There’s a place right by where I grew up,” Tyson says. “If we’re ever in Vancouver, I’ll show it to you.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” JT says, and Tyson laughs. 

JT is about to press, because he doesn’t know how serious they’re being right now, but before he gets a chance, the room goes dark— the lights turning off, JT realizes after a second, but he’s already rooting through his pockets on instinct, looking for his flashlight. 

Tyson beats him to it, apparently. “Shit,” he says, suddenly in a whisper. “I think someone’s here.” 

“Wh—”

“Like, someone had to turn off those lights,” Tyson says. “Let’s get out of here, dude.” 

JT nods, skates off the ice by the light of his phone, then sits on the floor and unlaces his skates, throws them in his bag as he shoves his feet back into his sneakers. 

“I thought the lights in here were supposed to be automatic,” JT says as Tyson stands up. 

“In the hall, dude,” Tyson says, walking in a direction that’s not the same as the door they’d entered through. “I guess the motion sensors don’t work in here.” 

“Where’s the switch?” 

“By the door,” Tyson says. “Same as most light switches.” 

JT is about to point out that there are multiple doors here, but he figures that it’s not a point worth arguing. “Where are we heading?” 

“Away from that light switch, and hopefully the person who flipped it,” Tyson says. “There’s another tunnel that’s usually safe.” 

“Usually?” 

Tyson shrugs. “I told you, I stay here late sometimes.” 

“So it’s just the breaking and entering part that’s new,” JT says, feeling weirdly let down. 

“Don’t forget the skating,” Tyson says, and JT thinks he can hear a smile in it. “And the company.” 

“But other than that?” 

“Dude.” Tyson makes a sharp right, starts to walk down the Zamboni tunnel. JT follows. “Nothing about this is the same as when I hang around to get a few extra photos, so you can relax, you’re still special.” 

“I better be,” JT says, grateful Tyson can’t see his cheeks get pink from the praise. 

Tyson turns around to give JT a smile, visible now from a distant, dim light. “You know, I kind of wish I had my camera with me.” 

“Probably good that there’s no evidence, though,” JT says, and then there’s a rustling sound that makes them both stop in their tracks. 

The next thirty seconds involve a lot of frantic eye contact, Tyson’s hand on JT’s wrist, and being dragged into a hallway that JT thinks he vaguely recognizes, but feels reconfigured at the moment. The lights go on, but Tyson doesn’t seem all that concerned, just pushes JT towards the— 

“Zamboni,” Tyson hisses, and before JT knows what’s happening, he’s squeezing into the tiny space underneath the steering wheel, his back pressed against the far edge as Tyson climbs on top of him, ducking down so that they’re both as hidden from view as possible. 

JT opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, but Tyson shakes his head frantically and puts a hand over his mouth, which is sort of dramatic, but JT gets the message, so focuses on being quiet and watches the way Tyson’s face changes as he listens for footsteps, or whatever. If he focuses on that, he doesn’t have to think about how close Tyson is, or the fact that his hand is warm, or the fact that Tyson’s thighs barely fit when he’s straddling him like this. 

It’s a few minutes of them just staying still, JT’s eyes on Tyson’s face, Tyson’s eyes darting around the room like he’s some sort of spy, and it’s just. So fucking stupid. The most ridiculous situation JT could ever imagine, really, and more ridiculous than anything he ever thought would actually happen to him. 

Fucking— god, fuck. Tyson fucking Jost. He is so stupid, and so pretty, and JT likes him so fucking much. 

“Okay, I think they’re gone,” Tyson says, and JT doesn’t feel any sort of relief, because Tyson is practically on top of him, his arms bracketed over JT’s shoulders, ducking so he doesn’t hit his head on the steering wheel, which means his face is right  _ there,  _ and— 

JT doesn’t know what possesses him to lean in and kiss Tyson, he really, really doesn’t. All he knows is that one second, he’s thinking about how there’s no way any of this can be real, and the next, he’s thinking,  _ fuck it,  _ and closing the space between them. 

Tyson doesn’t move, and then, after a second, he pulls away. 

There’s a moment where JT feels like the world is crashing down around him, which is fucking awful, except then, Tyson is _ looking _ at him, his mouth a little open. JT is about to say something like, ‘Sorry I kissed you, I swear I’m usually very good at not doing that,’ but Tyson’s face shifts a little, and he lets out this exhale that may or may not be an aborted attempt at speaking. 

Tyson stares at JT’s face hard for a second, like he’s looking for something, and JT’s not sure if he finds it or he doesn’t. All he knows is that this time, Tyson’s the one leaning in to kiss him.

It’s so fucking intentional that JT’s head is spinning, and when he kisses back, it’s hard to hold himself back and not try and speed it up, make it even deeper, even  _ more.  _ He puts his hand on the back of Tyson’s head out of some vague notion that he should protect him from the steering wheel, but then his hands are tangled in Tyson’s hair and all he wants to do is pull him closer, so he  just— he does, and Tyson goes with it, moving until he’s straddling him and their bodies are pressed together. His arms are wrapped around JT, and it should be too fucking much, but it’s not, it’s just— fuck, it’s fucking  _ perfect.  _

JT lets his hands wander up and down Tyson’s sides, even sneaks them under the hem of his t-shirt, even though he doesn’t think he should be able to do that so easily, not when he has no fucking clue what he’s even doing. Except he does, and it all feels so good, and when his hips grind a little against Tyson’s, he moans right into JT’s mouth, his eyes going half-lidded for a second. 

JT has never been this overwhelmed in his life, never been so turned on so quickly, and he thinks about the fact that Tyson’s feeling things like  _ that,  _ about  _ JT _ . Tyson has so much fucking power over him, and it’s weird to think that he might have even a fraction of that over Tyson, but he apparently does, and the proof is in his fucking lap. 

“Shit,” Tyson says, pulling away from JT’s mouth, but he’s still close enough that JT can feel his breath against his lips. “What the fuck, dude.” 

His voice isn’t angry, really, just— breathless, mostly, and maybe a little confused. 

“Was that okay?” JT asks. 

“Why did you do that?” 

JT gulps. “That’s not an answer.” He’s shaking, a little, and even if it doesn’t get into his voice, Tyson can probably feel it. There’s still no space at all between them; JT still wishes Tyson was even closer.

“Sorry,” Tyson says, rubbing the skin right behind JT’s ear with his thumb. He’s got the rest of his fingers anchored in the hair on the back of JT’s head, which is good, because that’s maybe the only thing keeping JT from a full-on panic attack. “It was good, I just— I wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Oh,” JT says. “Uh. Whoops?” 

Tyson does something that JT is pretty sure is supposed to be a smirk, but it looks off. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s just— I don’t usually, um, say this? But I think we should maybe… talk.” 

“Talk,” JT echoes. 

“Or just, like, leave this zamboni,” Tyson says quickly, and something in his tone is giving JT this weird, vague urge to apologize. “My leg’s starting to cramp.” 

“Oh,” JT says, blinking. That’s— Tyson’s backpedaling, JT realizes, and he’s not sure how he feels about that, but he figures it’s too late for that to matter. “Uh, yeah, we probably should.” 

He feels like he’s burning the entire time Tyson is crawling off him, a feeling that doesn’t go away as he awkwardly slides back onto the ground, and he’s not sure if he’s embarrassed or just uncomfortable. Tyson’s fidgeting, like he has no idea what to do with his hands, but that’s normal enough— what’s weird is that he’s so fucking  _ quiet.  _ Most of the time, he can’t shut the fuck up. 

JT just— he doesn’t know what to do, and he keeps not knowing as they make their way to the car, awkwardly walking side by side. JT is more aware of his hands in this moment than he’s ever been before, specifically because he’s terrified that they’re gonna accidentally brush Tyson’s and make it seem like he’s asking for something he’s not. He can practically feel heat radiating from the skin of the back of Tyson’s hand, and he desperately wishes that Tyson would just stuff his hands in his pockets or something, but then he realizes that he could do the same thing, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, because— well, because maybe he sort of does want his hand to brush Tyson’s, but only if he can pretend it’s accidental.

It doesn’t matter, though, because nothing happens. On their way back to the car, Tyson grabs his shoe, and JT huffs out a laugh at the approximation of his usual goofy smile that Tyson gives him. It doesn’t feel normal, by any means, but JT doesn’t know what it  _ does _ feel like. It’s all just— unsure, halted, going through the motions of things. JT doesn’t like that it’s so weird, really, but at least it doesn’t feel like anything’s over, and that’s— 

Again, JT doesn’t know. 

He still doesn’t know as he climbs into the car, only vaguely aware that the cold winter air is biting at his face, and he continues not knowing as Tyson puts on some low music that JT can barely hear over the ringing in his ears. JT doesn’t know by the time they get home and he’s watching the way the back of Tyson’s neck moves as he unlocks the front door, and he still doesn’t know when he’s making his way to his bedroom, changing into pajama pants, and crawling under the covers. 

A part of him feels exhausted, like he could sleep for a hundred years, but now that he’s actually lying down, he’s just— buzzing, trying to process everything that happened and piece together how he feels about any of it. 

He’s so distracted that he almost misses the sound of knocking on his door. 

“Come in,” JT says, and he’s not exactly surprised when it’s Tyson who opens the door, but his breath sort of catches, anyway. 

“Hey,” Tyson says, “I was, uh, thinking— we don’t have to talk about it, like, tonight. Or at all, if you don’t want.” 

“Do you not want to?” JT asks, and he’s just— he’s fucking confused, and Tyson being here is doing absolutely nothing to clear his head, and he’s not sure what he’ll do if one crowded kiss in a zamboni is all he ever gets. 

“I mean, I— I want to— um.” Tyson swallows, and JT watches the way his throat moves. “We can do things besides talk, I mean.” 

JT sits up a bit, and he doesn’t miss the way Tyson’s eyes flicker up briefly as the sheet falls down, exposing the skin of his chest. It’s the first time he’s looked at something besides his own feet since he walked in. “What kinds of things?” 

Tyson shrugs, and JT’s not sure if he’s trying to be suggestive or nonchalant or what, but right now, he just seems…  _ small. _ JT’s never seen Tyson look small before.  

“That isn’t an answer,” he says, and then, figuring sleep is a lost cause, he throws his legs over the side of the bed and starts to make his way towards the dresser. He’s not sure if Tyson’s still looking at him or not, but he doesn’t think about it too much; if they’re gonna keep doing— whatever this is, JT would prefer to do it with a shirt on.

Except then, as he’s reaching out to open his drawer, Tyson grabs his wrist—JT hadn’t even realized he’d walked over to meet him—and says, “How’s this for an answer?” right before he pulls him in for a kiss. 

JT stumbles, at first, but it’s only for a second. He doesn’t even give himself time to be surprised, because Tyson’s kissing him, and JT is not going to waste any time by not kissing him back. They fall into a rhythm quickly, like this is familiar for them, which it is, in a way, but it’s also— this is different, because they’re in a bedroom, and Tyson’s in pajamas, and JT isn’t even wearing a shirt. There is so much space around them, and only thin fabric between them, and it’s heady, being alone together, being intimate. At this angle, it’s JT who has to tilt his head down, and Tyson has to reach up so their mouths can meet, and that’s new, too— or maybe it’s the fact that JT feels like he’s setting the pace this time, feels like Tyson will go in whatever direction JT takes them. 

But JT— he still doesn’t know  _ what  _ he wants. Or, he does, but he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask for. He’s had sex, but it’s easy to follow the steps and do what he’s supposed to do when his thoughts aren’t clouded by this overwhelming impulse to put his hands a million different places, and maybe he shouldn’t assume that they’re going to have sex tonight, but he can’t help but think about it when he’s shirtless and they’re kissing and there’s a bed a few feet away whose sheets are already rumpled. 

His train of thought is cut off by Tyson moving to mouth at his neck, scraping at the skin with his teeth in a way that’s probably designed to leave a mark, and JT can’t even process that fully, can’t do anything but let the feeling of being wanted wash over him. He lets out a moan, and it would maybe be embarrassing if he was able to think enough to care, but then Tyson shivers at the noise— just stops kissing him altogether, leans his forehead on his shoulder and shivers. JT’s never seen someone overwhelmed like that before, and it feels almost too private, except— it’s because of him, maybe even a little bit  _ for  _ him. 

“Fuck, Tys,” JT says, and he doesn’t mean to use a nickname, but he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs for the next syllable. He’s got his hands under the fabric of Tyson’s shirt before he knows what he’s doing, kissing him for a short second before he’s tugging it over his head, and he thinks,  _ We might have sex, I might be about to have sex, I might have sex with a guy.  _ Those thoughts should be scarier, probably, because he really has no fucking clue what that even means, but he also wants to find out. Tyson’s hard, and he can probably feel that JT is hard too, and JT tries to forget about what he should and shouldn’t want, and focuses on what he actually wants instead. 

And it’s— it’s Tyson, always Tyson, all of Tyson, JT’s head filled to the brim with every version of  _ want  _ and every version of  _ Tyson.  _

“Should we—” Tyson says, out of breath and absolutely beautiful.

JT can barely get a word out. “Bed.” 

Tyson nods frantically. 

Even being a few feet apart for a couple of seconds sounds like a painful amount of distance, so JT doesn’t let go until they’re at the edge of the bed, and it’s Tyson who lies down first— lies down in the worst possible way, too, his legs spread and bent at the knees, like he’s inviting JT to crawl between them, so of course he does. 

It’s different, when everything’s horizontal, and that’s been true before— the gravity shifts on everything. Tyson’s splayed out under him, his face red, and it’s so different from any version of him that JT ever imagined. Tyson’s usually sure of himself, cocky, easygoing and charming; right now he’s just antsy, almost desperate. 

“Can I—” JT starts, then cuts himself off when the rest of the words don’t come to him. 

Tyson nods anyway, a little frantic, his eyes bright. “Yeah,” he says. “Whatever you want, just— please.” 

JT feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, but his hands are still, because of course Tyson’s throwing him so off balance but also the only thing in the world that can keep him grounded. 

“Oh,” he says, and it probably sounds dumb, but neither of them really registers it, because JT puts a hand on the front of Tyson’s pajama pants, where he can see the outline of Tyson’s dick through the thin fabric. 

Tyson makes a noise, squeezes his eyes shut and bucks his hips up, and JT is just— he can’t believe he gets to watch this happen,  _ make  _ this happen. Tyson’s losing control of himself for a second because of how badly he wants JT, and that’s a huge thing for Tyson to give him. 

JT wants to drown in it, wants to thank him for giving him this much, wants so, so much more of it. 

“God,” JT says, and then he rubs again, processes the way Tyson’s dick feels in his hand. Even through fabric, he can feel how hard, how  _ warm  _ it is, and he doesn’t know how to ask,  _ can I take your clothes off,  _ so he just keeps moving his hand experimentally, rubbing a thumb over the head so he can feel Tyson writhe. 

“Jesus fucking  _ fuck,  _ dude,” Tyson says, his voice so strained. “Touch me.” 

JT doesn’t think he’s ever been called dude in the middle of sex before, but he figures there’s a first time for everything. 

“Um,” JT says awkwardly, tugging at the tenting fabric with a clumsy hand. He feels so unsure, but not particularly bad about it, just— this is big. He’s never done something like  _ this  _ before, never felt so close to someone who matters so much to him. This is delicate; this is important; this is sort of… sacred. 

Then, Tyson huffs out an impatient breath and shoves him off a little so he can ungracefully push down his pajama pants, and JT remembers that this isn’t some mind-wandering fantasy, but a real thing he’s about to do with a really great person. JT knows what it feels like when your dreams come true, and this— this is  _ it.  _ This is wanting something for what feels like forever right when you have that thing—that person—at your fingertips. 

And that feeling, as scary as it is, is also just. Super fucking awesome. 

“Come on,” Tyson says, naked from the waist down, now. He grabs JT’s hand, and JT lets himself be guided until he’s got a hand wrapped around Tyson’s dick, his knuckles brushing against the skin of Tyson’s stomach. 

“Wow,” JT says, slowly stroking him, watching as a bead of precome forms at the head. 

“Thanks,” Tyson says, sounding almost sarcastic, except it mostly just sounds breathy. “You can—fuck—go faster.” 

“You mean like—” JT squeezes a little tighter on instinct, moves in a steady rhythm, and when Tyson bites his lip and nods, JT gets the message. 

And, like, there’s probably no meaningful distinction between just touching someone’s dick and actually jerking them off, but JT feels something shift, and he stops thinking so much about everything he’s feeling and starts just. Feeling it. He watches Tyson’s face for his reactions, listens for moans and gasps that mean things feel really good, and tries to keep going in whatever direction was working— harder, faster, or  _ just like that.  _

When Tyson squeezes his eyes tight and arches his back, it takes JT by surprise, and he doesn’t actually realize what’s happening until Tyson says, “Fuck, yeah, I’m gonna—” then cuts himself off with a gasp. 

JT isn’t sure what instinct tells him to lean forward and take Tyson’s dick in his mouth right when he’s about to come. He suspects that the only brain cell he has capable of thinking ahead might be the lazy one, and he knows it will be one less mess to clean up if he does this now. He’s never, ever thought about doing this, but he’s clearly on some sort of impulsive streak, and he has a split second where he thinks he might want to know what Tyson tastes like. Which is gross, but it’s the sexy kind of gross, so. Whatever. 

The angle is… bad. JT’s neck would probably be sore if he stayed like this for too long, but thankfully, Tyson comes as soon as JT’s mouth is on him, so he doesn’t bother with repositioning. 

He doesn’t think too much about the fact that he’s currently tasting his best friend’s come, but at the same time, he  _ is  _ currently tasting his best friend’s come, and that’s pretty fucking intimate. He can’t really explain why he likes it, because it’s not like the flavor is particularly good, but it’s the taste of Tyson and sex, and JT has waited so long to know him like this. Plus, he made Tyson come, and he likes feeling that in his mouth, 

He thinks that might be weird, but he doesn’t fucking care right now, because there’s a noise coming from Tyson’s mouth, and hands in his hair, and when JT finally pulls off, he looks up and sees Tyson looking at him, cheeks red, eyes dark, hair pointing in every direction. 

He looks taken apart, and like he still wants more. 

“Fuck, come here,” Tyson says, his voice hoarse, but JT doesn’t really have time to dwell on that before Tyson’s pulling him in for a kiss, apparently not at all phased by the fact that JT’s mouth probably still tastes like jizz. 

Actually, he might  _ like  _ that JT’s mouth tastes like jizz, if the way he licks into it is any indication. It’s a deep, filthy kiss, and Tyson takes control of it, rolls them over until JT is the one on his back and Tyson is looking down at him, his eyes downright  _ hungry.  _

“Can I suck your dick?” Tyson asks, and the directness catches JT off guard, but he nods quickly, and Tyson gives him a small, almost-mischievous smile before leaning in to kiss him again. 

He works his way down JT’s body, kissing his chest, running an appreciative thumb over the hair there before going even lower. He urges JT’s hips up so he can slide off his sweats, and JT is barely even thinking about how hard he is until the head of his dick gets caught on the waistband of his pajama pants and bounces against his stomach. He can barely spare a second to be kind of embarrassed, Tyson’s hand is on him so fast, and then, after another beat, Tyson’s mouth is there. 

JT throws his head back and just— zones in on the sensations, doesn’t think too much about anything else. Tyson’s so good at this, moving his mouth along JT’s dick like he’s a fucking expert, and a tiny part of JT feels sort of like he’s being shown up, but most of him is too preoccupied with the best blowjob of his life to actually care. JT isn’t a super talkative guy by nature, so he doesn’t talk nearly as much as Tyson had, just lets Tyson do his thing. 

JT’s head is spinning, but with Tyson’s mouth on his dick, it feels like it’s spinning in the right direction, like being overwhelmed by the feeling of someone else’s skin being pressed so close to his is the point of this. It’s not long before JT feels his orgasm forming low in his stomach, and he tugs gently at Tyson’s hair to let him know, and when Tyson looks up, JT gets to see the way Tyson looks all wide-eyed with his dick in his mouth. 

It sends JT over the edge a few seconds earlier than he’d expected, but Tyson just works him through it, hums around his dick in a way that makes him shiver. 

Afterwards, JT’s breath is coming in heavy, and the air in the room is starting to feel cool now that the haze of sex and want from before is starting to subside. He feels spent, and raw, and more than a little shaky. No one’s ever made him come like that before, so no one’s seen him like this before, in the aftermath of something beautiful and earth-shattering. It’s vulnerable in a way he hadn’t expected, and he feels kind of embarrassed by it, but it’s surprisingly easy to swallow that particular piece of pride. He’s sort of done feeling bad because of feelings he can’t control. 

Tyson is lying on his stomach between JT’s legs, his eyes fixed on JT’s thigh. He looks nervous for the first time since he walked in, like he’s not sure what he wants next, now that there’s no more sex to be had.

“Um,” JT says, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Thanks.” 

Tyson stares at him for a beat, then gives him a tired, amused grin. “No problem, man,” he says, crawling up the bed to lie next to JT. It’s an improvement for sure, but JT still wants him closer, so tentatively, he reaches out an arm and wraps it around Tyson. 

Apparently, that sends the right message, because Tyson immediately relaxes into the touch, rolling over to rest his head on JT’s chest. It feels… nice. Comfortable. Safe, maybe. 

“We’re good, right?” Tyson asks, sounding a little sleepy. JT gets that— actually, now that he’s thinking about it, he’s fucking exhausted. 

“’Course,” JT says. 

When Tyson hums contentedly in response, JT closes his eyes, and he doesn’t open them again before he finds himself drifting into sleep a few beats later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up next:** tyson jost is a grown man with two feet, one shoe, and no clue what's going on in jt's head. jt is pretty much the same, give or take a shoe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday josty! (JT got him a stuffed bunny I’m reacting normally)

JT wakes up the next morning and feels Tyson before he sees him. Specifically, he feels Tyson’s phone case, because apparently Tyson had decided that JT is a better stand than the perfectly good popsocket he already has. 

“Stop,” JT says groggily, turning onto his back. “That tickles.” 

“Sorry,” Tyson says, actually sounding apologetic, which is weird, so JT brushes it aside, just lets out a grumpy huff and peeks his eyes open. The sun’s already up, shining into the room in full force, which means it’s not too early, just morning proper. 

JT glances at Tyson, who’s looking at him with a strange, hesitant expression, and JT gets it—they had sex last night, Tyson’s waiting to see if he’s gonna react to that—but JT’s way too tired to for things to be awkward, and he gets the feeling that they don’t have to be. For something impulsive and huge, the situation feels pretty mellow. Kind of nice, actually— JT’s naked in bed with his best friend the morning after they had sex then proceeded to sleep for a full seven or eight hours. Maybe even nine, honestly. JT’s feeling exceptionally well-rested right now. 

“Time’s it?” JT asks, turning a little towards Tyson. 

“10:30,” Tyson says, and he looks like he’s about to say something else, except he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yo, Comph,” Kerf’s voice says, muffled through the door, and JT shares a panicked look with Tyson. 

“What?” JT yells at the door, then turns to Tyson and mouths,  _ hide.  _

“Can I come in?” 

“Uh,” JT says, frantically looking around; his closet doesn’t have a door, and he doesn’t have a desk or a table or any furniture that someone could feasibly hide underneath. “Gimme a sec?” 

“I just wanna ask something real quick,” Kerf says, and JT is contemplating the feasibility of Tyson somehow sneaking out through the window when Tyson quickly ducks under the covers, pokes his head out just enough to give JT a thumbs up, then covers his face. 

So apparently JT’s life is just. A sitcom.  _ The Tyson Fucking Jost Show.  _ It has a nice ring to it, at least.

“Alright, well— come in, I guess.” 

Kerf opens the door, and, thankfully, doesn’t seem phased by anything he sees. “Whose shoe is this?” 

“Oh,” JT says. “Tyson’s.” 

“Where’s the other one?” 

“In his car, I think?”

“Why is there a shoe in his car?” 

JT shrugs, and tries not to look too fond as he says, “Probably because he’s an idiot.” 

Tyson apparently doesn’t like that, because he actually fucking  _ bites _ him. 

“Ow,” JT says, even though he’s mostly just surprised.

Kerf frowns. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, it’s just— I’ve been having pain in my… toe… nail.” 

“Your toenail.” 

“Yeah, I, uh, ran into our coffee table the other day,” JT says. “It’s mostly been fine, but it’s really bothering me this morning.” 

This time, Tyson decides to lick him, and JT turns his annoyance into a wince. 

“Weird,” Kerf says decisively. “Well, whatever, um— oh. Do you know where Josty is?” 

“Wh— no, I don’t. Why would I know where he is?” 

Maybe the other Tyson had a point when he said that JT should get better at lying. 

“Since when do you not know where he is?” Kerf says, shrugging. “I dunno, figured I’d ask.” 

“I literally haven’t left my bed yet,” JT says, which is the truth, at least. 

“I always sort of figured you two had some telepathic shit going.” 

“Well, we don’t.” 

“Alright,” Kerf says. “See you, dude.” 

“Later,” he says, and then, finally, Kerf leaves. 

JT watches the door as it closes, figuring Tyson’s gonna wait for him to signal that the coast is clear, but the click of the latch doesn’t come, and JT listens for footsteps in the hallways, and those don’t come either. 

And then the door opens again, and Kerf pops his head in. 

“Okay, am I losing it, or is there a fucking person in your bed?”

JT sits bolt upright, and he probably looks like a deer caught in headlights, but he doubts anyone is looking at him, because Tyson’s apparently so startled that he just. Falls off the fucking bed. 

“Maybe,” JT says weakly. His eyes are very pointedly fixed on his hands.

Tyson sits up, rubbing at his elbow. “Fucking— ow.” JT’s not all that worried about him being hurt, because Tyson fell onto the carpet, and also, because he has a lot more to worry about in this particular moment.

“Oh my fucking— jesus fucking  _ christ, _ ” Kerf says, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them for a second. “What the fuck, what the— put some fucking clothes on, Jost!” 

“I was gonna,” Tyson says, but Kerf is already walking out of the room and closing the door behind him, so Tyson has to yell to be heard. 

“And I’m not done asking about this shoe,” Kerf calls, his voice trailing down the hall. “You’re a grown man with two feet.” 

There’s not really much that either of them can say in response, so JT just watches as Tyson sort of deflates, his eyes still fixed on the door. It’s silent for a beat, and JT should probably be processing what just happened, but he’s too busy hoping the ground will open and swallow him whole. 

“Fuck,” Tyson says, and it sounds like it’s mostly to himself. 

“Yeah,” JT says. 

Tyson turns to him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” JT says, frowning a bit. “You’re the one who just fell, dude.” 

“No, I meant— like, are you  _ okay,”  _ Tyson says, nodding at the door. 

“Um.” 

“Like, he just walked in and saw— like. He probably pieced together that we—” He bobs his head. “You know.”   

“Oh,” JT says. “That.” 

Tyson looks at him expectantly, but JT doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. 

“Are you okay with him knowing?” Tyson asks. 

“I— don’t know?” JT says. “Are you?” 

“I mean, that’s— it’s not the same.” 

“It isn’t?” 

“Of course it’s not,” Tyson says. “You’re— you play hockey. He plays hockey.”

“What does hockey have to do with it?” 

Tyson looks at JT like he’s trying to figure out if he’s being serious. “He knows that you hooked up with a guy last night, and you’re not worried about that?” 

JT opens his mouth to say something, but then it hits him— Tyson’s not asking if JT’s okay with Kerf knowing about  _ them.  _ He’s asking if he’s okay with Kerf knowing about  _ him.  _

“Well, I wasn’t before,” JT says, and then he blinks, processing a little bit. “Do you think— like, should I be?” 

“I mean, you know him, he’s a decent guy,” Tyson says, but it’s more hopeful than reassuring. “He seemed more mad about seeing my dick than anything else. He— he didn’t know before?”

“About me?” 

Tyson shrugs,  _ yeah.  _

“He… didn’t,” JT says. “Um, it’s not something I’ve really— it’s not exactly public knowledge.” 

“I figured,” Tyson says, his face weirdly inscrutable. He’s still sitting on the floor, for some reason, and JT really wishes he’d come back to bed. 

“This isn’t something I talk about much, alright?” JT says, and the words come out harsh and defensive. He’s not really sure why, because he’s not angry, just— everything feels off, and Tyson is way too far away. 

Unfortunately, the words make Tyson recoil, and then his face hardens, which is pretty much the opposite of what JT wants. 

“Copy that,” Tyson says, scrambling to his feet. “Sorry I asked.” 

“No, it’s not—” 

“We don’t have to talk about it, remember?” Tyson says, pulling on the pajama pants he’d discarded on the floor last night. 

“Come on,” JT says, a little helpless as Tyson haphazardly tugs a shirt over his head. “That’s not what I meant, dude.”

“Well, it’s what I’m saying now,” Tyson says. “I don’t want to make you have a conversation you don’t want to have—” 

“I don’t—”

“—and I have somewhere to be, actually, so, you know what? I’m just gonna go, and if you want to talk later, then— we’ll leave that for later.” 

“Tyson,” JT says, and it comes out a little desperate, but JT doesn’t really care. Tyson’s already got his back turned to him and a hand on the doorknob and JT doesn’t know if he’s physically capable of leaving things like this, not when he’s so close to actually being fucking happy. 

Tyson pauses, his grip loosening on the doorknob, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t turn around. “Look, I just— can’t, okay?” 

“Can’t what?” JT thinks he might be sick. 

Tyson takes a deep breath. “Can’t talk,”  he says, the words falling out of him like he’s letting go of the anger from before with them, and JT doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s clenching the sheet to his chest until he feels his grip loosen. “Right now, I mean.” 

“Do you actually have to be somewhere?” JT asks.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, and JT can’t tell if it’s the truth or not, but he figures Tyson needing to not be here for a little while is as good a reason as any. It’s not really any of his business, anyway; JT is a little sick of messing things up, and part of doing things the right way is listening to Tyson on Tyson’s terms. 

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Alright,” Tyson says. “Enjoy your day off, yeah?”

JT probably won’t, but Tyson leaves before JT has a chance to respond. 

It’s probably for the best. 

JT just sits there for a few minutes, digesting everything that just happened, listening to the sounds of his roommates bustling around the house. He hasn’t even begun to unpack the fact that he and Tyson had sex last night, and maybe that’s because it doesn’t feel real yet, but— it happened, and it was ridiculous and great and every bit as beautiful as JT had imagined, and then some. 

He doesn’t feel different, really. He’s just. Steadier. A little more sure. The things he’s been confused about lately— they feel less like hypotheticals, more like concrete realities. He had gay sex, and he liked it, and even though he’s got a million things to be worried about, he takes a second to just enjoy that.

The rest of it, not so much. 

It’s weird, because JT isn’t really terrified. He’s just anxious, which is reasonable, he thinks. People don’t get angry and leave because they need space to process  _ not  _ having feelings, and JT is pretty sure that if Tyson wanted to sweep this whole thing under the rug, he wouldn’t have said they’d talk later—JT’s clinging to the word ‘later’ like it’s a fucking lifesaver right now—but he knows there’s a large space between having feelings for someone and knowing you actually  _ want  _ them. Feelings aren’t sure, feelings aren’t permanent, feelings can seem like one thing then turn into another with absolutely no warning. 

Some stuff is maybe going right, and a lot more could potentially go wrong, is the point. 

JT doesn’t know what he can really do about any of it, not if Tyson’s not gonna be around, so he decides that getting out of bed and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. 

Tyson’s gone by the time JT makes it downstairs, but Kerfy’s still there, sitting at the table with a mug in one hand, his phone in the other. JT hesitates for a second at the door, but he figures he’ll have to face this eventually, and anyway, he needs food and caffeine. 

“Good morning,” Kerf says. “There’s still some coffee in the pot.” 

JT waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t, so he’s left to awkwardly pour the remains of the pot into a mug while wondering if Kerf is genuinely too focused on his coffee to make eye contact, or if he can’t look JT in the eye now that he knows he’s— 

Technically, Kerf doesn’t really know anything about what JT is, just what he’s done, and as much as JT hates it, those aren’t exactly the same thing, and Kerf isn’t really looking him in the eye, but he’s also not glaring at him, so JT figures he might as well dive in.

“I’m kind of— gay, or whatever,” JT says, and it’s definitely a blurt, but Kerf only looks surprised for a fraction of a second before schooling his expression into something calm and knowing again. The gesture is appreciated. 

“No, yeah, I kind of pieced that one together earlier,” Kerf says. “It was either that, or Josty dragged you into some zany scheme that ended with him naked.” 

It’s not technically wrong, but JT doesn’t really want to explain the whole breaking-and-entering part of the whole story. He doesn’t want to explain any of the story, really. He’s also not exactly sure what the story is.  

“Don’t tell anyone?” he says. 

“I won’t,” Kerf says. “So, uh— I’ve never really been in this situation before, but I feel like I’m supposed to, uh. Tell you I accept you no matter who you love, or who you bang, or whatever?” 

“Uh,” JT says. “Maybe? I don’t— it’s fine, as long as you don’t have a problem with it.” 

“Of course I don’t have a problem with it, why would I— did you think I had a problem with it?” 

JT shrugs. 

“Well, I don’t,” Kerf says. “Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because you thought I was homophobic?” 

“What? No,” JT says. 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

JT blinks. “I just— didn’t?” he says. “It didn’t really come up until this morning.”

“So when you asked Josty to move in,” Kerf says. 

“That’s… a new development,” JT says. “This whole thing’s a new development, so, like— it’s personal, y’know?” 

“Obviously, I’m not saying you had to, I just— it must’ve sucked keeping it a secret, is all.” 

JT doesn’t really feel like he’s been keeping it a secret. The Tyson part, maybe, but the rest of it— he’s barely had a chance to really see what his world looks like now that he knows he’s gay. Besides that one conversation with Gabe and Tyson Senior, JT hasn’t really had any reason to reconcile this new part of himself with the rest of his life. 

“I don’t really know,” JT says. “It’s less of a secret now, I guess, just— don’t spread it around, okay? I wanna know who knows.” 

“Do you think you’re gonna come out eventually? Like, to everyone?” 

Oh god, JT has no fucking clue. “Maybe?” he says. “I don’t— I’m still new to this.” 

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Kerf says. “I— I dunno. I’m sorry.” 

The apology annoys JT, for some reason, but he doesn’t really think it’s worth getting mad about. Kerf means well; JT knows he means it when he says he doesn’t have a problem with him being gay, but he also knows that this is a big deal kind of thing to learn about someone. Not as big a deal as it is for JT, obviously, but it’s not nothing. 

“I’ve never been in this situation before, either,” JT says. 

“What situation?” 

“Coming out,” JT says. “Talking about this stuff, it can be— I dunno. It’s weird.” 

“That makes sense, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” JT says, more than a little awkward, and for a second, they both just stand there. As far as uncomfortable silences go, it’s not that bad, but it’s still uncomfortable, and JT’s face is probably so red that even Tyson could probably notice it. 

Finally, Kerf clears his throat. “So, uh. Josty?” 

“What about him?” JT asks. 

“I mean.” Kerf shrugs. “What’s up there? Are you two, like, a thing?” 

“Oh.” JT blinks, thinking. “Uh, no? But, like, it’s not  _ not _ — I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“That’s… the opposite of an answer.” 

“Shut up,” JT says, his face turning red. “I don’t know, we haven’t really— talked about things.” 

“Do you want to?” 

“Do I want to talk?” 

“No, dude, do you want to date him,” Kerf says. 

Which is— not a question JT’s actually thought about before. 

For someone who’s done a fair amount of thinking on this topic, JT’s managed to focus on the wrong thing an impressive amount of times. 

“I don’t know,” JT says. “I just— really like him.” 

Kerf scrunches his nose. “Ew,” he says. “Like, ‘ew’ because that was sappy, not because it was— y’know.” 

“Gay?” JT says,  the word feeling a little less weird in his mouth this time. It’s a start, maybe. 

“That, or, like— Josty,” Kerf says. “That part makes a lot of sense.” 

“Does it?” JT says, mostly sarcastic. 

Kerf shrugs. “I mean, you guys are— y’know.” 

“Yeah,” JT says, even though he doesn’t actually. His face is feeling hot, and he turns away so he doesn’t have to look right at Kerf when he speaks. “I should, uh— go.” 

“Big plans today?” 

“Sure,” JT says, and then he gets up and leaves the kitchen, because he’s thinking about a lot of things that he probably should’ve thought about earlier, and staying in this kitchen mulling things over doesn’t quite feel like an option anymore. 

…… 

JT spends a few embarrassing hours driving around Denver looking for Tyson, which is ridiculous. Tyson does freelance work in his spare time, so he’s usually gone during the day, and it’s not like JT usually knows where he is. Even though they’re close, they’re still just friends who are also roommates. It’s like he’d told Kerf earlier— he doesn’t have any better of an idea where Tyson is than anyone else. 

Right now, he just wishes he did. 

He tries to clear his head, focuses on his hands on the wheel and the road in front of him, and it helps a bit, but it’s also— it’s difficult. As much as he wants to just put the whole thing out of his mind, his mind seems to have other ideas, namely, worrying about Tyson and brainstorming all sorts of fun and cute worst-case scenarios. 

He ends up sitting in the parking lot of a Starbucks with a drive-thru, debating whether caffeine will help or hurt him right now, and thankfully, that’s when Tyson calls. 

JT doesn’t even think before he answers.

“Tyson,” he says, more breathless than he’d like. Even if he has been more concerned than any reasonable person should be about Tyson, an adult man, being out and about in the middle of the day, Tyson doesn’t need to know that. 

“Hey,” Tyson says. “I, uh— I’ve got sort of a weird favor to ask.” 

“What is it?” JT says, his mind immediately assuming that Tyson’s about to ask him to pay ransom, which is unhelpful, because JT isn’t in fucking  _ Taken _ . 

“I’m about to, uh, look at an apartment,” Tyson says, and JT deflates at the words. Tyson wants to move out; that was always the plan, but the timing… isn’t promising, to say the least. 

“Right,” JT says, trying not to sound too hurt or too angry. “And what do you need from me?” 

“Can you come with me?” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” Tyson says, and it’s not a real fucking answer, but apparently, it’s enough to convince JT. 

He sighs, not into the receiver, and says, “Where’s the place?” 

Tyson gives him the address; JT hastily types it into Google Maps, and tries not to look too much into the fact that it’s pretty much as far from the house as Tyson could reasonably live. 

“I’ll be there in a bit,” JT says. “Just so you know, I don’t know shit about what to look for in an apartment.” 

“I know.” 

“You should probably ask somebody else.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Tyson says, “Probably. But I asked you.” 

And JT can’t really argue with that, so he just shakes his head, hangs up, and starts driving. 

…… 

Tyson looks good, is the first thing JT notices, probably because his brain is a traitor, and also because Tyson always looks good. Even now, when JT is terrified to speak to him and Tyson is visibly nervous, he looks good. His hair is all messed up, like he’s been running his hands through it a lot in the last few minutes, and JT can’t help but think about what it had looked like on his pillow this morning, or, hell, what it had looked like last night, after JT’s fingers had been tangled up in it. 

It feels weird that all that happened so recently. The last few hours have been an agonizingly slow blur of waiting for time to pass, which might just be what JT’s world is without Tyson in it. 

JT thinks that he might have a Tyson Jost problem, until he remembers that he has most definitely had a huge Tyson Jost problem for months now, and that none of this is new. 

Anyway: JT sees Tyson first. 

He’s sitting on the steps in front of the building wearing black pants and a black shirt, an outfit that has no business looking so good, but obviously it does on Tyson. He lifts his head as JT climbs out of the driver’s seat, presumably at the sound of a slamming car door, and they sort of lock eyes for a second before it gets to be too much for JT, so he focuses instead on the ground in front of Tyson’s feet as he makes his way over. He stops right in front of him, and, for lack of anything better to do with his hands, stuffs them in his pockets. He’s got one of his favorite hoodies on, but he sort of wishes he was wearing something about six sizes too big for him right now. He’d very much like to be drowning in fabric and have pockets all the way up to his elbows. 

“Hi,” Tyson says, looking at JT all wide-eyed, like he can’t believe he’s here. It’s probably fair; JT also can’t believe he’s here, so it makes a weird sort of sense, even though neither of them has any reason to be surprised. 

“Hey,” JT says, focusing on the part of his field of vision where Tyson’s curls meet the front of the building. “Is this the place?” 

“Yeah, there’s an agent who’s gonna show us around,” Tyson says. “We’re kind of early.” 

“Oh,” JT says. 

“I didn’t know you’d get here so fast,” Tyson says, like he’s apologizing, or something. 

“I, uh, guess there wasn’t traffic?” JT shrugs. “Who knows.”  

“Guess so,” Tyson says. 

There’s a beat where neither of them says anything, and it’s not an awkward silence, really, but JT thinks it could become one if they don’t remember how to speak to each other soon. Even if things feel unsure right now, it’s not going to be like this forever— eventually, they’re gonna have to figure out how to be in the same place and have a conversation, and that’s, like, the bare minimum. In JT’s ideal world, this is just a bump in the road, and eventually, they’ll go back to the way things were before. 

Weirdly enough, that possibility doesn’t seem too far off— if there’s still this much tension, that means there’s still a lot of stuff between them, stuff like history and love and friendship and understanding. 

JT can work with that, he thinks. 

“So, how’d you find this place?” JT asks. 

“Online,” Tyson says. “I’d actually get to sign shit this time, so I wouldn’t be screwed over like last time.” 

“I mean, if you did, at least you know you have a solid backup,” JT says, offering him a small smile, which earns him one in response. It feels like an understanding.

“Your couch was a pretty sweet deal,” Tyson says. “But— it’s time for me to move out, I think.” 

JT nods, looks at his feet so Tyson doesn’t have to see his smile fade. Tyson probably notices anyway—he’s observant like that—but JT doesn’t want to turn this into a discussion about why  _ now  _ is the time Tyson’s chosen.

“Street parking was easy,” JT says. “So that’s a plus, probably.” 

Tyson’s grin widens a little at that, his eyes lighting up, and JT feels something in his chest unclench. “I knew inviting you with me was a good idea. I wouldn’t have even thought about that.” 

“I try my best,” JT deadpans as he takes a seat next to Tyson. “Wanna google what to look for when you look at an apartment?” 

“You’re a genius, you know that?” Tyson says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

They don’t make it very far before the woman comes to show them around the apartment, and JT hangs back and trails after them as she and Tyson chatter about logistics. JT doesn’t really pay much attention, just sort of lets his eyes wander as she points out the features of the apartment— it seems sort of small, but then again, JT doesn’t actually think he’s ever been in a one-bedroom apartment before, so he probably wouldn’t know. 

He’d probably feel a little more awkward if the agent wasn’t walking at a whirlwind pace, but she’s moving very efficiently, like she’s got places to be, and it’s only a few minutes before she’s handing Tyson her card and telling him to call if he has any questions. JT suspects she’s got back-to-back tours booked. 

Afterwards, they end up at a restaurant a few blocks away, even though it’s a little too early for dinner. They’re ‘exploring the neighborhood,’ apparently; really, it’s just that Tyson’s hungry, and JT isn’t in the mood to get in his car right now. 

“I thought that would take a lot longer,” Tyson says, once they’ve ordered. “Like, I knew it wasn’t a big place, but— I dunno. I thought there would be more to see.” 

“I mean, we saw the apartment, and the laundry room down the hall,” JT says. 

“No, I know, but—” Tyson shrugs. “I dunno. It just seems like there should be more.” 

“I think most of the actual information is written down,” JT says. “The tour is mostly so you can get a feel for the place, y’know?” 

“I guess,” Tyson says. “So.”

JT blinks. “So, what?” 

“So, like— what do you think of the place?” 

“I mean, it’s… an apartment,” JT says. He bites his lip, briefly wonders if he should leave it at that, but he figures he might as well be honest. “I guess it’s fine, but— kind of far, right?” 

Based on the way Tyson’s face does something complicated before his expression turns into something soft and electrifying, JT would guess that he knows he’s not talking about the rink. 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Tyson says. “So that’s a factor, then.” 

“If you say so.” 

“There’s— another place, I’ve been looking at,” Tyson says. 

JT wonders how much time Tyson has spent on this, because apparently, it’s been more than he’d realized. He’d sort of assumed that the process was on hold. “Do you like that one better?” 

“It’s the building right down the road from the house,” Tyson says. “There’s a unit opening up there.” 

“Oh,” JT says, trying not to perk up too visibly, because apparently ‘perking up’ is a thing he does now. “Well, that’s— you like that place, right?” 

“I mean, I’ll have to see it, but—” Tyson shrugs. “So, like, there’s this place, that’s far from the house and wants me to move in ASAP, or there’s that place, where I’d be right there, but I’d have to stick around for a few extra weeks. And I guess, like— I have to move out, soon, but where I move sort of depends on a few things?” 

“Okay,” JT says, not really sure where this is going. “What kinds of things?” 

Tyson takes a deep breath. “Well, for starters, if you’d be okay with me… uh. Buying you dinner.”  

It takes JT a second. Even then, he still doesn’t fully believe it, not even when Tyson looks up and gives him this tiny, hopeful smile.  

“Is this because you dragged me across town to look at an apartment?” JT says slowly. 

Tyson’s smile falters a little. “Not exactly.” 

“Right,” JT says. “And it’s not because you’re just— feeling generous, or whatever.” 

Tyson bites his lip and looks down at his hands; after a beat, he shakes his head. There’s no mistaking the expression on his face for anything besides the fear that comes with bracing yourself for heartbreak. 

Or maybe there is, and JT is just tired of denial, so if Tyson is meeting him more than halfway, then— 

“Just checking,” JT says, and then he nods, tries not to let his hands shake. He’s got his eyes fixed on his plate, now, vaguely aware that he’s smiling so wide it hurts, that he’s super fucking  _ happy  _ and too full of adrenaline to actually process it. “Well, in that case—” He clears his throat. “If I knew you were paying, I’d have ordered something more expensive.” 

He can’t bring himself to look up, but he can hear that Tyson’s grinning back when he says, “Honestly, I was kind of disappointed when you didn’t.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “Wanted to show you that I’m not a cheap date.” 

The word  _ date  _ rings so loudly in JT’s ears that he has to stop his face from doing something cartoonish and probably misleading. It’s a lot to hear, but it’s the good kind of a lot. 

He looks at Tyson, and it’s almost embarrassing how wide he’s grinning, which makes JT blush harder and smile even wider, which should definitely not be possible right now. He’s pretty sure the happiness is kicking in, because all of a sudden, JT really,  _ really _ wants nothing more than to leap up from the table and run around the restaurant clicking his heels every so often. He also would like to kiss Tyson right this second, and he shouldn’t, but— 

“Let’s hope you get another chance to show off, then,” JT says, and he sort of feels like he’s on the brink of hysterical laughter. He’s still only about 80% sure that this  _ is  _ a date, for some reason, but for the first time ever, his happiness is beating out his hangups. 

“Yeah, let’s,” Tyson says, sounding a little breathless. “Look, I know there’s— a lot to consider here, but I just—” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “This has been… a thing, right? That we want—” He gestures between them, bobs his head. “—this?”

“I— yeah,” JT says. “Yeah, I’ve wanted— yeah. Yes.” 

Tyson breathes out, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Alright,” he says. “Cool.” 

“Cool,” JT echoes, and he knows that’s not the end of it, but right now— he’s okay sitting with this new stuff, letting it swirl and waiting for it to settle before they talk about the more complicated stuff. 

In the meantime, he can focus on Tyson. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up:** tyson moves out


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a combination of factors that leads to them spending the first three days of their relationship in JT’s room. 

It’s the fact that they’re roommates, combined with the fact that they don’t really know how to go out in public together, combined with— 

Well. They  _ just  _ started dating, and JT wants to have sex pretty much all the time, which is new. It’s not something they plan to do, usually, more just something that happens. They’ll be making out, and then things will get hot, and then things escalate until they’re naked and touching each other and one of them is getting off. Every time he makes Tyson come, JT’s pretty sure the world changes around him, but when they come back down to earth, there’s still a movie playing on Tyson’s laptop, and they haven’t even missed that much of it, because Tyson had already been half-hard from JT sitting on his lap by the time he got a hand on him. 

It’s almost embarrassing, how they’re both on edge and easy for it all the time. It’s messy, it’s quick, it’s clumsy, and it’s the best sex JT has ever had, in his entire life, hands down. 

Like, there’s probably something to be said for rose petals and candlelight or whatever, but JT thinks people should appreciate how awesome it is to just be able to feel  _ good  _ with someone. Because every time he and Tyson have sex, it feels a little special, but it mostly just feels awesome. They can spend a few minutes taking each other apart, share something pretty intimate whenever the urge strikes them, and afterwards they can just go back to normal, talking and laughing like they have since they first met. 

Except now they do those things naked, and now they don’t have to hold back if they want to touch or kiss or run a hand through the other’s hair. It’s definitely an upgrade. 

It’s a few days before they really manage to do much besides fawn over each other and make out. Not that they don’t try; they’ll say that they need to talk about things, and even start talking about them, but then one of Tyson’s curls will fall onto his forehead and JT will brush it off, and then they get sidetracked. 

They manage it eventually, though, half-naked in JT’s bed in the middle of the afternoon. Tyson’s head is on JT’s chest, and he’s running a finger through his chest hair, which actually kind of tickles, but JT isn’t telling Tyson that part, half out of self-preservation, half because it still feels nice, and JT doesn’t want him to stop. 

“So,” Tyson says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” 

“Okay,” JT says evenly.

A beat, and then: “When did you stop being straight?” 

JT furrows his brow, because that’s… not the question he was expecting. 

“What?” 

“Like, I sort of assumed you were, until— well, y’know.” Tyson bobs his head. “The zamboni, and stuff. But I, uh— I guess you’re not anymore?” 

“I mean,” JT says, sitting up a little. “I didn’t really think about it that much for a while.” 

“What changed?” Tyson asks.

If JT’s being honest, he still doesn’t think about it much, because he’s more focused on this one boy in particular than he is on boys in general. He knows he’s probably not gonna try and date girls anymore, now that he knows there are other options, but he never let himself think that kind of thing about boys before. It’s only ever been about Tyson, and that was because Tyson kissed him first. 

If he’s being really, really honest with himself, there was probably a reason he didn’t say no when Tyson needed someone to kiss. It’s tiring, spending all your time pretending you’re not just the slightest bit too lonely. 

“You,” JT says, and he isn’t trying to be romantic, or anything. Tyson was one of the first glimmers of hope that there was something, or someone, out there for a guy like JT. 

It sounds a little romantic, in context, but JT’s not gonna correct himself. Tyson deserves romance. 

“We don’t have to, like, talk about it, but— you’re okay with it, right?” 

“Okay with what?” 

“The fact that this is, like— sort of… gay? Kinda?” 

JT raises his eyebrows. “Kinda.” 

Not that he’s an expert, or anything, but he’s pretty sure two dudes naked in bed after sex is as gay as it gets. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to push labels around, but it’s— it’s gonna be a thing,” Tyson says.

“What do you mean by labels?” JT asks.

“Like— the acronym, y’know. Gay. Or bisexual, or queer, or— there are lots of words,” Tyson says. “It’s gonna be a thing people ask about if we— or, I mean, if they find out about…” He gestures between them. “This.” 

“I know,” JT says, frowning a little. He’s pretty sure Tyson’s not trying to talk down to him, but he feels talked down to anyway. “That’s the stuff I’ve been thinking about lately.” 

“Just checking,” Tyson says, fast, like he’s retreating from something. He probably doesn’t want to push, but JT doesn’t think that’s the same as not wanting to know, because Tyson’s eyes are still curious. 

After a beat, JT says, “I knew I wanted to kiss you for weeks before I actually did it.” 

Tyson shifts a little, sitting up. “Oh.” Then, “I didn’t know that.”  

“Yeah, well,” JT says, and then he shrugs. “It was confusing for a while. I— I talked about some stuff. Tyson—other Tyson—and, uh, Landy— I told them I was confused about stuff, and that was sort of— and then, like, after you left the other day, I told Kerf that I was probably gay, so.” 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot, then,” Tyson says, half a beat late. 

JT hums in agreement, then nudges him. “What’s up?” 

“I— I just didn’t know,” Tyson says, his eyes fixed straight ahead, expression a little distant. “I guess— um. Knowing that makes it seem more—” He swallows. “Serious, I guess?”  

“Are you… okay with that?” JT asks, backing away a little bit. 

Tyson turns to look at JT, and his eyes are— full of  _ something,  _ terrified and heavy and fierce and fucking beautiful, and it makes JT feel like he’s on fire. He’s never looked at someone the way Tyson’s looking at him right now; those are the eyes of an artist, and JT only recognizes them because he’s seen Tyson take so many fucking pictures. 

“Look, I— I’m bad at saying things that I should say, but you’re, like, pretty important to me, and— I don’t wanna fuck this up by pushing it, but I also am really,  _ really  _ bad at being casual. Sometimes. I mean, sometimes I’m pretty good at it, but—” Tyson shakes his head. “Whatever, this isn’t one of those times. And that doesn’t mean you have to be something you’re not, like, ready to be, or anything? I just— I mean, I guess I wanna make sure that this is a thing.” 

“Of course it’s a thing,” JT says, turning so that his whole body is facing Tyson. “I don’t— what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that— it’s like— I just—” Tyson huffs. “I really like you, okay?”

“Okay,” JT says, a little slow. He’d sort of assumed as much, but— different words are important to different people. Maybe these are the ones that matter to Tyson. “I really like you, too.” 

“It’s okay if you don’t— or, like— it’s not  _ okay _ if you don’t, but it’s okay if you’re not… sure yet? I guess?” 

“Well, I am sure, so, like. Relax,” JT says, trying not to smile. It’s not that he likes seeing Tyson stressed; he just— he knows where Tyson’s head is at right now, and he likes being liked by someone he likes. “You don’t have to talk about this stuff if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I’m just— again, bad at it,” he says. “We should just— make sure we’re on the same page.” 

“Fine,” JT says. “What page are you on, then?” 

“I dunno, what page are you on?” 

“Tyson,” JT says. 

Tyson opens his mouth, then closes it, then waits a second, before he finally says, “Are we dating?” 

JT blinks, takes a second to process. He forces himself to swallow the wave of fear and doubt that momentarily takes over, then says, “I sort of assumed, yeah.” On impulse, he grabs Tyson’s hand, and based on the way he can feel it relax in his, he figures it was a good choice. “Is that okay?” 

“Of course, just— making sure.” Tyson’s voice sounds a little weird, but not in a bad way, and JT is overcome with the urge to just— he doesn’t even know. Grab him and spoon the fuck out of him, just wrap his arms around him and make him feel warm and safe and close. He doesn’t even know what to call this, this kind of want that’s about bodies and touch but not quite about sex. Not that it’s exactly  _ not  _ about sex, either, it’s just— it’s more about Tyson than anything else. 

JT nudges Tyson onto his back, then climbs on top of him, bracing a hand on either side of his head. It would be powerful, looking down at Tyson like this, if he wasn’t also powerless to the way Tyson’s eyes were staring back at him, so open and so goddamn beautiful. 

“Let me take you out tonight,” JT says, and he’s not actually sure where it comes from, but it feels right. “On a real date.” 

“Where?” Tyson says, and JT leans down to kiss him, this short, soft thing. 

“Somewhere nice,” JT says, running a hand down the side of Tyson’s face. “Where we haven’t been before. I dunno, we could make a whole night of it, dress up, just— treat it like a thing, you know?” 

“You eat at nice places all the time,” Tyson says, turning his head to the side a little, which gives JT a full view of the blush that’s sitting high on his cheeks. 

“Not with you,” JT says, soft and a little distant, even to his own ears. He doesn’t know who he is anymore, when he became the kind of guy who says this shit, who  _ wants  _ it, who gets so caught up in someone, but— he can’t bring himself to hate it, not in the slightest. He knows it’s embarrassing to be this sappy, but it’s also pretty fucking great. He wants this, and he has it, and it’s just— magical, or something. 

…… 

Kerfy, obviously, is the first to know. Gabe and other-Tyson are next. 

They figure it out during the team’s next road trip, which is, thankfully, only one game in Dallas before they’re back home. Usually, JT is fine on the road, but Tyson had traveled with the team for this one, and it’s been weird having to keep things under wraps. JT can barely look at Tyson without smiling like an idiot, and every time they’re in the same place, JT feels his fingers drawn to Tyson like they’re fucking magnetized, or something. Really, JT should be used to Tyson bringing out ridiculous feelings in him, but with the way it’s all been amped up to a million lately, he guesses that it’ll take a while for things to really feel normal. 

Not that he’s complaining. It’s a little exciting, the way he and Tyson spend the plane ride exchanging lingering looks as Kerf rolls his eyes, or the way their hands brush for a second as they’re checking into their respective rooms. It’s probably  silly, and JT feels like he’s 15 years old again, but whatever— life’s hard enough as it is, JT’s gonna take what easy happiness he can find. 

In this case, he finds it when he’s supposed to be in bed, in an alcove that’s conveniently private for something that only houses a few vending machines and the ice machine. It’s pretty much begging JT and Tyson to make out in it, honestly. 

“This is dumb,” JT murmurs, barely moving his lips off of Tyson’s. “We have rooms.” 

“You have a roommate.” 

“You don’t.” 

“Yeah, but I have work to do,” Tyson says. 

“You’re not doing it right now,” JT points out. 

“I can take breaks,” Tyson says, kissing JT again before he says, “But if we go to my room, this break won’t end.” 

“Are you calling me a distraction?” JT says. 

“Oh, for sure,” Tyson says, and then he squeezes the skin of JT’s hips, which does a very good job of distracting JT from the actual words Tyson is saying. “If you come back to my room, there’s no way I’m going to be able to kick you out.” 

“Well, what if I promise to leave?” 

“Do you?” 

JT shrugs, and they both kind of giggle at that, which quickly devolves into kissing, because Tyson’s mouth is still very close, and his giggle is very cute. 

“Alright,” JT says, pushing Tyson off after a few more minutes, because he should probably encourage him to make good choices, or something. “You should head back.” 

“I really should, shouldn’t I,” Tyson says, moving towards JT again, but JT holds a hand up to Tyson’s mouth, which is an unprecedentedly smooth move, if he does say so himself. 

“Work,” he says. “Go do it.” 

Tyson pouts, which is absolutely ridiculous and alarmingly effective. 

“I’m trying to be a good influence, man,” JT says, maybe a little desperate. Tyson’s puppy dog eyes are really doing a number on his willpower, and he can already feel himself starting to give in. 

“Mmm, sexy,” Tyson says, but he takes a step back. “I should go, though.” 

“You should.” 

Tyson hums. “One last kiss? For the road?” 

“You’re going  _ down the hall,”  _ JT says. 

“It’s a long fucking journey, dude,” Tyson says. “Who knows what could happen.” 

JT rolls his eyes, but relents. “Fine. One last kiss.” 

“Just the one,” Tyson says, and, as promised, he leans in, presses a firm, soft kiss to JT’s lips. 

It takes everything in JT to not suggest another ‘one last kiss,’ but he manages to hold off. “Have fun working.” 

“I won’t,” Tyson says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But I’ll get it done.” 

“That too,” JT says, and they both kind of laugh before Tyson gives him one final goodbye and leaves. 

JT stands in front of the vending machine for a solid two minutes after that, half trying to wait out the dumb grin that’s currently taking up half his face, half trying to decide if he wants Cheetos or not, but before he manages either of those things, he’s interrupted by Gabe Landeskog walking into the alcove.

“Oh, hey,” Gabe says, walking toward the ice machine, hotel room cooler-bucket-thing in hand. “I just saw your partner in crime in the hallway.” 

“Really,” JT says, and he can feel the top of his ears go red. He knows he hasn’t exactly been caught, but his hair is definitely a mess, and his shirt is rumpled, and it feels like there’s electricity running through his lips, and even if it’s not visible to anyone else, it’s enough that JT  _ feels  _ like it’s noticeable. 

Gabe turns to him, a little confused, and then he blinks a few times before taking a long look at JT. He seems to clock the way he’s definitely way too jumpy right now, the way his hair is messed up and his face is probably red with beard burn, the way his voice jumps up a whole octave at the mention of Tyson’s name. He notices it all, takes a second to process, and then, finally, gives JT a small, understanding nod. 

“I take it your roommate situation isn’t quite so confusing anymore, then.” 

JT nods slowly, then bites his lip before he says, “He’s— uh, he’s actually moving out soon.” 

“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” Gabe says, turning toward him. “It’s right down the street from your place, right?” 

“Yeah, he’s moving in as soon as we get back, so we’ve got a bunch of his stuff packed up already,” JT says.

“Wow,” Gabe says, nodding. “End of an era.”

JT shrugs; he’s trying not to be too sad about it, because his Tyson’s still gonna be right at his fingertips, but he knows the house is gonna feel a little too empty for a while. “It’s for the best, I think.”

“Probably,” Gabe says. “As long as you’re both happy about it, you really can’t go wrong.” 

To his credit, JT mostly manages to keep a dopey smile from splitting across his face. There’s only a little bit of dope, and it’s hidden at the corners. “We are.” 

“Good,” Gabe says, and it’s almost sincere for a second, but then he follows it up with, “So, Tys and I are invited to your housewarming party, right?” 

“We’re not having a housewarming party,” JT says, and then he realizes what that sounds like, and quickly amends, “I mean,  _ he’s _ not having one, as far as I know.” 

“Quick save,” Gabe says approvingly. “But seriously, when is it?” 

“Never.”

“Well, that’s a disappointment,” Gabe says, furrowing his brow. “You should make him have a party. We wanna see your new place. Tys has been watching HGTV all week.” 

If JT had to guess, he’d say that Tyson Barrie’s consumption of low-stakes reality TV has almost nothing to do with Josty moving, and more to do with who Tyson Barrie is as a person. “It’s his new place, not mine.” 

“Oh, well, sure,” Gabe says. “Not officially.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“The place is his, and he’s yours, so…” Gabe waves his hand to finish the sentence. 

JT sputters a bit at the abrupt shift from subtext to text, but manages to compose himself after only a few seconds. “He’s not  _ mine,”  _ he says. “I mean, I guess he’s my something, but— he’s also his own person with his own apartment. Bother him if you want a party that badly.” 

“Your  _ something, _ eh?” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow, and JT rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go a little pink anyway. 

“Not my roommate anymore, but.” He shrugs, figuring he might as well be honest. “You know, it’s… happening.” 

Gabe nods, his face shifting into something a little more understanding. “That’s— that’s really nice. How long’s it been happening for?” 

“A few days,” JT says, exhaling a little bit. “We, uh, haven’t— it’s not a public thing, but it’s also— like, Kerf knows, and I think we’re okay with people knowing? As long as they’re…” He searches for the word, comes up empty. 

“Safe?” Gabe offers. 

“Yeah,” JT says. “That. It’s, uh— the thing that’s more of a secret isn’t the fact that we’re… together, just the, uh—” He clears his throat, but he finds it doesn’t feel so hard to say the next part. “The gay part.” 

Gabe’s eyebrows go up in surprise, almost like he’s impressed, and JT feels— proud, is probably the best word for it. 

“Got it,” Gabe says. “Well, if you ever wanna talk about… y’know, what it’s like, or whatever— I’m here.” 

“Thanks,” JT says, a little awkward— just because he doesn’t mind this conversation, that doesn’t mean he knows how to have it.

“And so is Tys, obviously,” Gabe says quickly. “Both of us. And the same goes for Josty.” 

JT nods. “I’ll let him know.” 

“Actually, if you want, we could have dinner, all four of us,” Gabe says. “Like, a double date kind of thing, if you guys are into that kind of thing.” 

JT shrugs. “Maybe, yeah.”

“We could do it at our place,” Gabe says. “Or his, if you want— like a little… welcome to the new—” 

“Is this about the housewarming thing?”  

Gabe gives JT a smile that is both apologetic and dangerously charming. “Partially,” he admits. “But, seriously… we’re on your side, okay? We— we’ve been there. It can be weird, but it’s not—” He looks around, lowers his voice just a little. “It’s not fun to be super excited about something and not be able to talk about it, and I get that, so.”

“Got it,” JT says. He knows Gabe’s not just talking about talking; it’s sort of fun sneaking around for now, but eventually, it’s gonna wear off, and JT will be stuck with a secret to keep. 

It’s not a problem right now, but it will be eventually, and he appreciates Gabe telling him this now; it’ll make things easier down the line, probably. 

“Cool, well— I’m gonna get some ice,” Gabe says. 

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” JT says. “See you around, dude.” 

“See you,” Gabe says, and JT gives him one final nod before he walks out of the alcove. 

When he’s back in his room, he flops onto his bed and pulls his phone out of his pocket, holding it above his face. 

_ JT: ran into the captain. _

The reply comes almost immediately. 

_ Tyson: where??  _

_ JT: by the vending machines lol  _

He bites his lip, debates sending the next thing he wants to say, but decides to go for it.

_ JT: i told him  _

Tyson types, stops typing, starts typing again, stops, and starts one more time before JT finally gets a response.  

_ Tyson: what about?  _

_ JT: us  _

_ JT: u + me i mean  _

_ Tyson: ooooooooooh  _

A few more aborted messages on Tyson’s end, and then: 

_ Tyson: how did that go?  _

_ JT: well i think?  _

_ JT: r u okay with that  _

He probably should’ve checked with him beforehand, but he figures he might as well give Tyson an in to point it out in case he did accidentally fuck something up. That’s… good communication, or something. 

_ Tyson: i am if you are _

_ Tyson: i’m fine w/ whatever as long as u are _

_ JT: he’s prolly gonna tell tys sr too?  _

_ Tyson: prolly lol _

_ Tyson: that’s fine  _

_ Tyson: should we dtr before we like. tell ppl.  _

_ JT: dtr?  _

_ Tyson: Define The Relationship™ read urban dictionary sometimes, get cultured _

_ JT: 😔 _

_ JT: i went to college im cultured  _

_ Tyson: go back, ur clearly not cultured enough  _

From his bed, Kerf scoffs, which means that JT’s probably smiling dumbly at his phone, but whatever. 

_ JT: this your way of saying u want me to leave?  _

_ Tyson: yes  _

_ Tyson: jk never  _

_ Tyson: 🤗🤗🤗😘 _

“You know, your boyfriend’s right down the hall, you don’t have to text him,” Kerf says. 

JT gives him a one-shouldered shrug, too pleased to be nonchalant, probably. “He’s got work to do.” 

“And how’s that going?” 

JT types,  _ well, if u wanna define the relationship, kerf just called u my boyfriend, and he went to harvard so you know he knows what he’s talking about.  _

“I dunno,” he says, hitting send, not bothering to worry about it. Labels are nice, but he’s pretty sure he and Tyson are good, no matter what they call it. Boyfriend makes sense for them, he thinks. “Ask him.” 

_if harvard says we’re boyfriends, guess that makes us boyfriends,_ Tyson sends, and then quickly follows it up with _👍,_ _💖🔥💙,_ and _😊,_ all in quick succession. 

Someday, JT will adjust to the fact that he and Tyson really are on the same page now, and that will be the day his heart doesn’t do something stupid and cheesy that he can feel all over his body like an embarrassingly fond gust of wind, but today is definitely not that day. 

…… 

The day Tyson moves out is deceptively sunny, and about 15 degrees colder than JT had expected. 

“Maybe if you’d checked the forecast—” Tyson starts. 

“I didn’t think I needed to, it looked  _ nice  _ out,” JT says. “The sun makes it warm. That’s how science works.” 

“Clearly it’s not.” 

JT is feeling very mildly but very genuinely annoyed about the fact that Tyson’s getting all smug about the temperature. He’s convinced that JT ‘accidentally’—air quotes and all—forgot to wear something warmer just so he could borrow something, and, like, sure, JT is very much enjoying the fact that he’s currently wearing a sweatshirt that smells like Tyson’s detergent, but if he wanted to wear Tyson’s clothes that badly, he’d just ask.

“Stop that,” JT says, because Tyson’s smirking at him for the fourth time today. “If I knew you’d turn this into a conspiracy theory, I would’ve checked.”

“I’m just smiling, dude.” 

“You’re also looking at me.” 

“I look at you all the time,” Tyson says. “Sometimes I even smile when I do it. You know, because I like you, or something.” 

JT is about 80% sure that’s not what Tyson’s smiling about, but he lets it pass without comment, mostly because he’s pretty sure he’s never gonna win this argument.

“You like that I’m helping you move,” JT says. 

“Well, yeah,” Tyson says. “I also like other stuff about you, though.” 

“Oh yeah?” JT says, raising his eyebrows and trying not to blush too hard. 

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “Like— your arms. I really like your arms. Have I ever mentioned that I like your arms?”

“No,” JT deadpans. Tyson’s said ‘I like your arms’, or some variation of it, every time JT’s lifted a heavy box today, which has been…. a lot of times. 

Okay, so maybe forgetting a sweatshirt hadn’t been completely unintentional, but it’s got less to do with wanting to wear Tyson’s clothes, and more to do with JT wearing a black v-neck that’s a size too small. He knows for a fact that Tyson enjoys it when he wears this shirt, so it’s an act of kindness, really. He shouldn’t be mocked for doing his boyfriend a favor to make the stressful process of moving a little less stressful. 

“I also like the fact that you’ve got a bunch of big, strong friends, because they’re gonna help me move,” Tyson says. 

“They’re your friends too,” JT points out.

“Technically, they’re workplace acquaintances.” 

“Technically,  _ we’re  _ workplace acquaintances,” JT says. “Anyway, they’re not helping as a favor to me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people like doing nice things for you.” 

Tyson gives him a confused, amused look. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because it’s true?” JT says. “You’re a very likeable person.”

“Likeable?” Tyson’s brow is starting to get all worried now, and JT gets the sense that he’s overthinking this. 

“You’re nice, so people wanna be your friend,” he clarifies. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh,” Tyson says, and then he seems to consider that for a moment. “That’s… sweet, right? You’re being sweet right now?” 

JT rolls his eyes. “Yep. It’s almost like I like you, or something.” 

“Or something,” Tyson says, smiling now, and JT considers rolling his eyes again, but he figures that would be repetitive, so he pulls Tyson in for a kiss instead, grins as Tyson makes a cute, surprised kind of a noise, and doesn’t quite manage to stop smiling, even when Tyson starts to kiss him back. 

In his defense, Tyson doesn’t stop smiling either. 

…… 

_**Epilogue** _

 

(When Tyson was 7, he quit hockey because he wanted to do the school play. 

His mom had asked him if he was sure, but it wasn’t the way some parents do, when they’re trying to stop their kids from giving up. Tyson had always liked hockey, and he loved his hockey friends; she says that she knew it was serious, if he had a reason to quit. She asked him to take a day to think it over. 

Tyson’s reasons for wanting to quit hockey hadn’t been great. He’d been 7, and he’d had a fight with his friend on the team, and his other friend—her name was Samantha, he’s pretty sure—had told him that she was going to do the play. Tyson liked Samantha a lot. Samantha liked singing a lot. Samantha was loud, and Tyson’s hockey friends were mean about her sometimes, but Samantha had given Tyson’s sister a Lizzie McGuire CD because she knew Tyson secretly loved that movie, and that’s pretty much as loyal a friend as you can be when you’re 7.

It’s not that Tyson hadn’t liked his hockey friends. He just always felt like he had to pretend to make fun of things around them, and when you’re 7, that can be very confusing and very exhausting. 

So, after a day, Tyson had said, “I want to do the play for now. I’ll decide about hockey later.” 

And, because Tyson’s mom is lovely, she’d found that to be a perfectly acceptable answer. 

Tyson’s never been all that attached to things being permanent. He doesn’t need to be A Hockey Player to play hockey, and he doesn’t need to keep playing hockey just because he used to. He’s comfortable dropping things when he’s not particularly interested in doing them and picking them up again when he is, and he’d never really understood why that wasn’t just… how most people lived their lives. 

Because it’s not, really. People spend years and years in piano lessons only to lament ‘quitting’ as soon as they go a few months without playing, as if they don’t still know how to play the fucking piano. Tyson had once dated a writer who couldn’t go to sleep unless she’d written a poem, because she ‘didn’t want to let her craft die’. In Tyson’s experience, any time someone goes any amount of time without being overwhelmed by the urge to do a thing, they decide that it’s not a ‘thing’ they do anymore, and that’s always seemed counterproductive to Tyson. Things are fun until they’re not, and then they become fun again. 

Tyson used to wonder if he was flighty, capricious, restless, inconsistent. He used to wonder if he was missing out on something, if he wasn’t a person until he was able to find the concrete things he knew would never change. But he’s not like that about everything, and anyway— at a certain point, if you keep coming back to something, it just… becomes a part of you anyway. Arguably, the things Tyson likes the most are the things he’s ‘quit’ and come back to more than once. 

Like hockey, and taking pictures, which is why he’s trying to make a career of those two things. 

‘Career’ has never been a concept that appealed to Tyson, but he’s making it work. 

It helps that he likes where he’s living, and doesn’t really want to move again anytime soon. It also helps that he likes his job a lot. The Avs are a good team. Tyson’s become a pretty big fan. 

“Your captain would make a good stripper,” is how Tyson chooses to drunkenly express that thought to his boyfriend.

A sober JT would probably respond with something dry, maybe a single raised eyebrow, but JT is absolutely wasted, so he laughs. 

“I’m not gonna agree, but I’m not gonna disagree,” he says. 

“You’d be a good stripper too,” Tyson adds, because it’s a little true, and he likes to remind JT that he likes him more than he likes anyone else. “You’d be a sexy fireman, or something.” 

“A fireman.” 

“Yeah, because your hair’s all fire-colored,” Tyson says, and then he runs a hand through it, because it looks soft. “You’re already, like, a sexy flame.”

“But you’re saying I should be a sexy firefighter,” JT says. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

“As long as you’re sexy, it makes sense.” Tyson is well aware that this whole line of reasoning is ridiculous, but it’s making JT smile, so. Sort of a no-brainer there. 

“You,” JT says, “are ridiculous.”

See? Smiling. 

“You should dance with me,” Tyson says, because he fucking loves dancing, and because they’re surrounded by people who  _ know, _ which means that dancing together, as a couple, is an option. 

It’s nice, that JT’s teammates are cool. Tyson’s known plenty of hockey players in his time, so he didn’t really have high hopes about being super open about their whole relationship deal, but everyone’s been surprisingly cool and low-key about it. JT hadn’t been worried at all, and Tyson’s not sure if he really understands why he could’ve been. He probably hasn’t had to see a good person turn shitty; Tyson hopes he never does. 

They tell each other most things these days, but there are some things Tyson keeps to himself. JT knows that Tyson was scared of being fired that first night they met, when Tyson had needed an emergency makeout buddy; he doesn’t know that Tyson was scared  _ for  _ him, that he’d checked Twitter relentlessly to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally exposed some random hockey player to heaps of shitty homophobic rumors. 

Maybe Tyson’s just paranoid, and that shit doesn’t actually happen, but— he can never really be sure. He doesn’t think there’s  _ nothing  _ to be scared of. It’s probably scarier that he doesn’t know what the worst case scenario is. 

JT definitely doesn’t think about that stuff as much as Tyson does.

“Alright, yeah,” JT says, giving Tyson a small smile that cuts off his train of thought and also literally takes his fucking breath away, because JT Compher is a beautiful man whose smile radiates calm and induces inner peace. “Let’s dance.”

Tyson stands up, offers JT his hand, and drags him to the dance floor, because they feel safe and dancing is fun, and because neither of them needs to think too much about anything right now. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH 
> 
> every comment/kudo/text from a friend/person who let me know that someone rec'd it/reblog/tweet made my heart fucking soar <3 i poured my heart into this story and you guys made it so, so worth it to share.
> 
> there's obviously so much that happened in the background of this story that didn't make the cut for the main text-- what's up with gabe and tyson? what did kerf think was happening before he and jt finally talked it out? do those shoes ever get reunited? i'll work on typing up some of the cutting room floor details, but in the meantime, please ask whatever you wanna know!!! 
> 
> i'm lottswrites on tumblr, give me a follow :) thank you so much!!!

**Author's Note:**

> updates coming every few days, feel free to leave comments between chapters! i love seeing you guys react to stories as they're happening :)
> 
> if u wanna tell ur friends feel free to reblog the [tumblr post](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/post/183277202809/lottswrites-retrograde-by-lotts-tags) i made for this fic and follow my writing blog while ur there!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Retrograde](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224186) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




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